


F*ck this sh*t

by InNeedOfInspiration



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: F/M, Humor, Identity Swap, dealing with celebrity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:56:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNeedOfInspiration/pseuds/InNeedOfInspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you want to hear the most fucked-up story ever told? Then put your fat, nosey and psycho asses down on a chair, you have found just the one!</p><p>My name is Jo, and this is my story. I don't expect you to believe every word that I will say, after all my opinion is often biased, my reactions almost always excessive, but you'll have to believe the main storyline at least; for it has turned my life fucking upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking up

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I had the inspiration for this. Please, your feedbacks will help get motivation to keep on writing it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: 

Do you want to hear the most fucked-up story ever told? Then put your fat, nosey and psycho asses down on a chair, you have found just the one!

My name is Jo, and this is my story. I don't expect you to believe every word that I will say, after all my opinion is often biased, my reactions almost always excessive, but you'll have to believe the main storyline at least; for it has turned my life fucking upside down.

First spoiler first, I swear a lot. Like a lot. Legend holds that fuck was the very first word I ever said as a baby. My epitath will certainly be: _"Jo Williams. She swore like a sailor"_ , a career I would have brilliantly succeeded in but that had I missed out on. And that gives me another good reason to swear in frustration.

Speaking of career, I would describe mine as "null and void". I am a writer; or more like, I have tried to be a writer but failed miserably. I was nothing like Stephen King: I didn't have his pen and I sure didn't have his bank account. I did not even have the ideal background story. I wasn't from New York or San Francisco, but from a little town in Michigan. My wikipedia page (if I would ever get one) would say:

_"Jo Williams, born, lived and died in the armpit of the USA (we will not even bother to name the town, you won't know it, and you don't want to know it, trust us)_

Ok, so this was for the professional part of my life that already takes up a lot of my time to whine about. As for my lovelife...Joker! I really don't want to discuss it. There's no point in even trying. Don't even try. Hey, this is my story! I write it the way I want. All you're supposed to do is read with deep interest.

So it all started in April 2013. I was sprawled on my couch, feet on the coffee table, watching TV while eating jellybeans. Jack, my dog, was sleeping on my lap. Armed with my TV remote, I kept channel-hopping endlessly until the manicured bitch from ET appeared on my screen. "Take a look at the new _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ set pictures..." she exclaimed with her botoxed smile. I let out a scoff and pressed the button to zap, unsuccessfully. Obviously, the TV remote had to kick the bucket just when I urgently needed to switch channels. "Fucking batteries" I grumbled while shaking my TV remote to death. "You can see here Chris Evans filming in his all new Captain America costume alongside his costar Scarlett Johansson, who will be playing the Black Widow again...", the host continued. I didn't care much about the Marvel movies but I did have a slight problem with Chris Evans. Everything about him was annoying me, starting with his biceps. I had a horror of overbuilt guys, and clearly, this guy was the leader of the clique. If I had to choose between him and a guy with a paunch, I'd pick the guy with the paunch! Chris six-pack Evans certainly wouldn't get my money at the theater. "Tell us what you think..." the host concluded just when I had finished my genius trick of swapping the batteries to get them to work again. "Faaaaaake!" I hollered before zapping and drinking a sip of beer at the same time.

I spent the rest of the evening watching some ABC show. Last thing I remember was hearing the clock strike midnight then I made my way to the bedroom and nodded off.

I woke up the next morning, feeling extremely dizzy. I had a shitty headache, everything was spinning fast and that looked like all the symptoms of a glorious hangover. I slowly pushed the duvet away and remained seated a few minutes on the edge of the bed. "Okay" I muttered "I'll never buy the cheap beer again".

The room was brighter than usual as I always liked to sleep in complete darkness and I quickly rushed to close the curtains. My retinas burned less and I made my way across the bedroom while rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands.

As I walked by the opposite wall, I caught a glimpse of a silhouette. I jumped and leaned my back against the nearest wall. "Who's there?" I cried with horror. Silence. "I can defend myself. I did 5 years of jujitsu, you know" I tried to say with the most confidence possible, then I cursed myself when I measured the enormity of my lie. Nobody does fucking jujitsu! I should have stuck with the basic boxing or judo line.

I waited several seconds to see if my intruder would swallow it.

I thought about taking my phone and call 911 until I remembered I had left it on the couch in the living room. Hurrah, me.

"I just called 911!" I exclaimed. "They'll be here in a minute, they said there was a patroll right down the road". Enormous lie number 2. We had the smallest police brigade here, and they were always all gathered around a box of donuts at the police station. Silence again. The guy was really good, I had to admit. As hard as I could focus, I could only hear the sound of my jerky breathing. Of all the intruders that might have stopped in Michigan, I had to get the fucking ninja one.

After a while, worrying about the fact my ninja would realize they still hadn't heard the siren of any patroll, I decided to take a peek. The intruder had coincidentally decided to do just the same at the exact moment. I gasped and jumped back though this time I had had a good visual. It was a woman with red hair. I let out a sigh of relief: alright, there was an intruder in my house, but this intruder wasn't after my vagina.

"I saw you" I said outloud. "You can come out, I won't hurt you with my jujitsu skills". I waited a long minute but didn't get any response. "Shit" I muttered to myself. I was not going to stand in the bedroom forever. My favourite sitcom was about to start any minute now.

"Okay" I said "I am coming out". I took a deep breath and stood in the middle of the room. The woman was there, too. I couldn't see clearly because of the dark (and I blamed myself for drawing the curtains) but she was standing quietly, looking at me with big confusion. To be honest, she looked jus as frightened as I was; which didn't make sense at all.

"Hey" I started with a tone as friendly as possible when you have a conversation with a person who broke into your house while you were asleep. "What's your name?" I asked. The woman didn't answer, she just remained standing. And then a detail I hadn't noticed before suddenly struck me. She was in her freaking nightwear! And not just my boring check pants with a hole on the side, but a silk satin and lace slip. The expensive kind. I looked in awe, mentally blocking my jaw from hitting the floor. This sight almost made me want to cry: why did an intruder have better nightwear than me? And then, another fact ate its way through my mind: had she spent the night in my apartment?

The situation was getting alarming, I had to act like an adult.

"Where did you buy your satin slip?" I asked.

This was a way to make a friendly conversation and to get valuable information for upcoming shopping sessions.

The woman standing opposite but many feet away remained silent. "Hey" I repeated, waving this time. She waved back. But there was something incredibly strange in it. She hadn't waved with a couple of seconds difference, but at the exact same moment. It was like she had read my mind and copied the gesture I was about to make. I tried again and stuck my thumb up. She did the same. I put my thumb down and up and then back down, and she did it too. Okay, now that was getting freaky.

"How can you do this?" I exclaimed as I took a couple of steps forward. The female came forward at the same pace. I took a deep breath and held my arm up, reaching forward. The female intruder did the same. I carefully walked up to her then halted just when our fingers were about to touch.

I widened my eyes in shock, dropped my hand and ran to the window. I frenetically opened the curtains, the room drowning in the light, and I rushed back to my initial place. "The fuck?" I squealed as I looked at the red-headed woman standing opposite me with her hands on each side of her face with an open mouth. "What happened to my face?!" I screamed as I desperately ran my hands all over the mirror that was in front of me. My palms violently hit it as if it would help to figure out the spooky thing which was currently happening to me. I held a chunk of my hair up in front of me and looked at it, horrified. I was the freaking intruder.

"Fuck this shit", I gasped. I had just spent ten entire minutes of my life trying to scare off then have a conversation with my own reflection!

Why was I even saying my? This wasn't me. I was not this red-haired...and pretty hot woman. I put my distress on pause to have a proper look at the woman I could see in the mirror. She had big, green eyes, luscious pinky lips you would yearn to kiss, prominent cheekbones and a sexy hour-glass figure. I was into dicks, but damn that was a hot chick. Somehow, I had become this hot chick! My formal appearance wasn't too bad. I was pretty cute actually, but if I really had to spend the rest of my life in a new body, this one would definitely do. I took the satin slip off, then turned right and left in front of the mirror, slowly growing fond of my new clay, or shall I say, new car body.

When I finally stopped navel-gazing (both metaphorically and literally), an important detail struck me. This wasn't even my mirror in the first place! I turned and looked at the curtains; I had never seen them before in my whole life. I ran all around the bedroom, mentally noting down all the unknown furniture. When my list became too long to remember, or even comprehend, I decided to take it the other way around: mentally note down every familiar piece of furniture. This was simple: there wasn't any. I ran to the wardrobe and took a look at the clothes. None of them belonged to me. They were well too feminine and chic for my liking. I gasped when I read the label on one of the blazers hanging before my eyes. Chanel. Scratch what I just said: this whole wardrobe was meant for me.

I ran out of the bedroom and all around the appartment like I was mental (or like a child playing around; choose your favourite simile). Turned out it wasn't really one, it was smaller than my apartment, but way more luxurious. I stood in the middle of the main room, pondering all the wave of new information. This wasn't my apartment; this wasn't even an apartment. It looked like...a hotel.

I was drowning in all those new facts. I needed to put it all down on paper. Writing was my only soothing therapy. Without it, I was a mess. I took the notepad and the pen put next to the landline telephone.

_Number 1: I am no longer a brunette, I'm blond!._

And that was already a big new reality to swallow for itself.

_Number 2: I am in somebody else's body!!_

I circled this line three times because that was the freaky part of it all.

_Number 3: I am no longer in my apartment; therefore, where the fuck am I?_

I ran to the nearest window.

_Trees. Blue sky. One sun. Evidence show I am still on Earth._

This was an important point to clear out. I had just woken up in a new body, the alien planet wasn't such a far-fetched theory after all.

_Number 4: Who is going to feed Jack???!!!_

My heart squeezed when I thought I would never go back to him. I added some more exclamation marks.

_Number 5: If I am in somebody's body, where is my body? Is it being occupied or is it...just a corpse?_

A new terrifying theory jumped in my mind. Perharps I had died during the night and maybe this luxurious hotel room, the designer clothing and the hot body consisted of the afterlife. This was a more plausile theory than the alien abduction. I could totally cope with the fact that this could be heaven. But if I was dead, it meant I would never go back home. I nervously bit my lip and circled point number 4.

I paced around the room. I had to confirm or deny this new theory. I stood in the middle of the room, waited then pinched the skin on my forearm with all my strength. I let out a cry of pain.

_Number 5: If I am in somebody's body, where is my body? Is it being occupied or is it...just a corpse? I am not dead and it fucking hurt!! Back to point number 4._

I nervousy chewed on my pen.

_Number 6: Evidence show I have swapped bodies with somebody. (note to self: call CNN and the NASA once I have figured it all out). Question is: who am I?_

I looked up and saw my new reflection in the small mirror facing me. I put the notepad down on the table and walked up to it. The crisis I was deeply in a few minutes ago, before sorting everything out down on paper, had blurred my good memory for faces. Those big green eyes, those full lips....I knew that woman. Not personally, but I knew who she was. Actually, probably half of the world knew who she was. _She_ had a wikipedia page.

A knock on the door made me jump in surprise. "Miss Johansson?" a female voice called.


	2. First encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the second chapter. Can I, please *please*, ask you to leave a comment or something so I know if the story is worth continuing. I don't see the point of writing it if I don't have readers. So, please, a quick feedback would be immensely appreciated! ;)

I alarmingly looked round, searching for God-knows-what, for this action had the sole goal to help me cope with the panic.

"Who's there?" I asked fidgeting. "It's Lindsay. May I come in?" the voice answered.

"Hmm...sure!". I looked down and remembered I was in my underwear. The bolt unlocked at the same moment I sprinted and jumped into the bedroom. "I'll be here in a minute!" I exclaimed as I frenetically looked for a large sweater and some pajama bottom...or for the towelling robe that I grabbed in the bathroom. I quickly put it on, halted and took a big breath.

This was the moment to discover whether I really had the appearance of Scarlett Johansson or if this was all a big dream I haden't woken up from yet (even though the pinch should have woken me up, right?). I carefully stepped in the main room and looked at the young woman with big guilty eyes. She was about twenty-seven years old and pretty slim. She had very short blond hair, blue eyes, thin lips and features; dressed in very comfortable clothes, jeans, a tee-shirt and a denim jacket.

She looked me up and down, quickly bit her bottom lip then put on a smile of circumstance. "You're not ready, yet?" she said, making the choice to use a polite interrogative tone instead of passive-aggressive statement. "Today's filming has already begun but you are not expected on set until two hours, which gives us time to get to the filming location, have your hair and the make-up done in your trailer. When do you think you can be ready?"

I had a million questions rushing in my head right now, the first one being "Do you really see Scarlett Johansson in front of you, right now?" and the second one "who are you?". I thought my head was going to go into another spinning session. This story was beyond crazy. A part of me had been hoping it was just my sanity that was jumping off a cliff, something that sounded far more credible and pleasant than the reality which was now punching me on the face repeatedly.

"Miss Johansson?" the young woman called. I held my hand up to my pounding forehead. "Don't call me that" I murmured as being called by this name was the final uppercut. She smiled at me: "Sorry. Scarlett. I forgot you had allowed me to call you by your first name." She paused then repeated again with a more confident tone. "When do you think you can be ready to go?"

I tried to visualize all my escape routes, there wasn’t any. And this sudden reality made me suddenly feel claustrophobic. I needed to go out and breathe some fresh hair. "When do you need me to be ready?" I answered. She winced a bit: "About twenty minutes", she attempted cautiously. I nodded. "Give me ten". She offered her earnest grin as I rushed into the bedroom.

Eight minutes later, we were in the car, on our way to the set. The driver was silently driving out of the hotel car park, while the young girl, Lindsay?, was on the backseat beside me. I took Scarlett's mobile phone out of my pocket -or perharps should I say, my mobile phone- and looked at the screen. She had received several texts.

From a Romain:

00:12: _"Miss you"_

And all the others were from a certain C.E.:

00:25 _"Don't forget your promise :)"_

06:17 _"Are you wearing your pink socks?"_

06:17 _"I am wearing my lumberjack boxers! :p"_

06:18 _"Just so you know, I washed them first"_

06:18 _"...or maybe not!"_

06:19 _":p :p :p"_

"What the...?" I mentally yelped. I didn't know who that "C.E" was but I already had a piece of advice for him: stop flooding! Without mentioning all those exclamation marks and emojis that smelled of "dork" in a ten-mile radius.

"Scarlett" Lindsay called. I took my eyes off of the screen phone and turned to her. "I assume you didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning. What shall I bring you?" I shot her a look of pure amazement. "That's really sweet of you...Lindsay. But I don't want to be a nuisance". Seriously though, why was I going to ask this poor girl to go food shopping for me. I didn't even know who she was.

Unexpectedly, she stared at me like I had just bitch slapped her. "But I'm your assistant. If I don't bring you food, who else will?"

Those few words caused an epiphany in my head. "You're the assistant!" I wanted to cheer, not to specifically rejoice over her job but because I finally knew what she was around for. "Alright!" I exclaimed with far more enthusiasm than necessary for such a random situation. "A sandwich, some orange juice and jellybeans will do". Why the jellybeans? Probably because there were the last memory from my former life I could hold onto. I had spent the last evening of my life as Jo eating jellybeans, and it sounded right to start my new life as Scarlett Johansson eating some more jellybeans.

We reached the set fifteen minutes later and passed the security gates when the first drama of the day happened. "I'm gonna go grab what you asked for in the nearest local shop. I'll meet you at the trailer later", Lindsay casually said. Casually to her, but to me, her words were accompanied by a dramatic music and a clap of thunder. I felt vulnerable like a child who would have gotten lost in the supermarket. I scanned my surroundings and saw the white trailers parked at the back. I was greeted many times before I finally reached the area. Now the real task was waiting for me: find Scarlett's trailer. I progressively went from walking at a steady and confident pace to wandering about aimlessly when I came across the same trailer with the red balloon for the third time.

"Damn it" I growled as I hit the balloon with my knuckles.

"Hey, easy there" a male voice said with an amused voice "Let's not give Mackie a reason to wail and weep because you have burst his balloon".

I spun around to face my interlocutor. How could I possibly describe him? It was a mass of muscles with a side smirk that came in shaking my world...in the not positive sense of the idiom. Chris biceps Evans. Speaking of biceps, they were also definitely present. So unmissable, they should always be mentioned independently in the end credits, right below his name; so heavy, they had the legal right to get their own birth certificate. Evans and his biceps walked up to me, both carefully wrapped in a tight v-neck t-shirt. His hair was blond at the front but from what I had heard yesterday on ET, this was a wig for the movie.

"So?" he asked "You haven't answered my texts" Every piece of the puzzle got back together. C.E., of course. "You're the flooder" I said to myself. "What?" Evans frowned. "Nothing" I answered impassively.

"Did you see my texts?" he asked with a genuine excitement I could not understand. "They were hard to miss" I mumbled.

Evans smiled smugly and leaned down, lifting his left leg up behind him, and reached down for the bottom of my jeans. He quickly pinched the fabric between his fingers and lifted it. I swiftly stepped away. He leaned back and stood up straight with a dramatic disappointed facial expression. "You're not wearing the pink socks" he scolded.

He then smiled, turned around and leaned over a bit so that I had his bum before my eyes. He then lifted his t-shirt with one hand and pulled his pants down a little. "Told you I would wear my lumberjack boxers!" If stares could kill, he would have been lying on the floor at this exact second. Had I swapped bodies and gone through all the trauma of waking up with a new appearance just for the sake of looking at Chris Evans's ass? Hell to the no.

"What the fuck is that?" I blurted out with a straight face.

Evans faced me again with a smile. "Remember yesterday we were talking about our lucky charms for when we start shooting a new movie? You said you had pink socks and I told you I had red and black checked boxers that I wore in the very first scene I played Cap..." he paused trying to catch in my eyes a hint of recollection. "Still doesn't ring a bell" I said coldly, my arms folded over my chest.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you did not believe I had kept those boxers as a souvenir and I didn't believe you were still wearing pink socks. You dared me to wear the boxers and I dared you to wear the socks".

I faked a deep yawn. "Well. That was enthralling from start to finish".

Evans laughed heartedly; somehow my sarcasm had not offended him, surprisingly. I hadn’t expected him to be so…laid-back. That was challenging in a way, I guess. "Come on, that was your idea in the first place, remember?"

"Ok. Let's say you have until next week to wear the socks" he said in attempt to cheer me up, though I hadn't expressed even a smidge of disappointment. "Deal?" he said. I nodded. I smirked thinking of the blissful socks adventure I was about to begin. I started to mentally plan my socks schedule for the week, making sure I would wear, for every new day of the week, each and every shade of the damn color chart except pink. Evans nicely patted my shoulder in a bad timing that seemed like he was congratulating me on my new crafty plan.

"What are you doing in front of Mackie's trailer?" he asked.

Oh yeah, about that. I pointed at it with a frown, "Why does..." I paused "...Mackie have a balloon? Did a niece or a young fan leave it behind?".

Evans smirked. "You wish! This balloon is his property, bought by himself, solely for himself". I blinked repeatedly, processing the answer. Where the hell I had landed exactly? Pink socks, red balloons, lumberjack socks...I was getting prepared to coexist among the freaks. "Okaaay", I concluded. Just so you had an idea of what it meant on my scale range, _'okay'_ was pretty bad; that was the word that should get you questioning your sanity/humor if I had to say it as a response.

"Anyway, I was looking for my trailer" I said. Evans smiled. "Slow memory today", he commented before leading the way. I was starving, I was grumpy from the migraine and, mind you, the body swap crisis and all I needed was some time with myself. Yet Evans spent every second of the walk talking about people who were mere strangers to me like they were my best buddies: "Mackie", "Hemsworth", "Downey", "Renner", "Sam", "Russo". Who the hell was Russo?

We reached the trailer just when Lindsay came running to us with a plastic bag at the hand. We all got onto the trailer and I quickly emptied the grocery bag I had just been handed. "Yum, jellybeans!" Evans exclaimed, snatching the packet. He ripped it open, "do you mind?” he asked, as he poured a big handful of candy into his palm before my horrified eyes. He played with my nerves some more as he tossed one jellybean up in the air and let it fall back down straight into his open mouth. He thanked me then left the trailer. I got up, rushed up to the door and watched him walk away while chewing my treat.

"Chris Evans" I muttered "I hate you".


	3. Just keep swimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Big thanks to bval and katon for their comments . They seriously made my day! Here's a new chapter, hoping to get some more reviews. :)

The best part of my hectic morning arrived when I spent nearly an hour getting pampered. My hair was straightened meticulously, and the make-up, though it was overall discreet, made Scarlett me look really pretty. I looked down at the filming schedule put on my table and saw the planning for today was called "roof scene".  
I almost fell off my seat. As I processed I had no idea what "roof scene" scene referred to whatsoever, I was hit by the fact I didn't even know my lines...nor the plot as a matter of fact, but it wasn't the absolute priority at this second.  
"Where's the script?" I demanded frantically, searching all around me, and quickly glancing at the clock. I had exactly ten minutes to learn all the lines I would have to say.  
Lindsay rushed in with the precious remedy in her hands. I felt relief and glee engulf me and for a moment, I could have almost sworn the script was sparkling in fairy colors.  
I looked at the cover:

  
 _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_

  
I couldn't help feeling a twinge in my ego. Obviously, I wasn't the hero of that movie. Don't ask me why I had that bitter thought when it was none of my concern only the night before. This wasn't my movie, this wasn't my life nor even my body but I already had the instinct to protect them and get what was best for them. I could have said "fuck it" and walked off the set and live my new life, or I could have decided to act like a diva, but that wouldn't have been right to Scarlett Johansson. She had fought for this, to get all this; and I couldn't just step in and ruin it all. Who knew if that body swap thing was even permanent. It might end tomorrow, next week or next year; it might never end at all, but still, I could never own it fully. Even after ten years, a part of me would still think of the eventuality of her taking her body back. And because of that possibility, I had to fight to keep it the way I had found it on the first day; or make it better. I couldn't help wondering whether Scarlett - if she was actually in my body right now-, felt the same way? Was she starting to treat it like hers already? Was she going to turn my life upside down (though it would be hard to get it messier than it already was) or follow the path I had taken?

I pushed all these thoughts aside and skimmed through the pages, trying to spot the word "roof". I froze when my eyes scanned it. There was no dialogue whatsoever, only the description of a pursuit between Captain America and the Winter Soldier. I turned the pages again until the word "roof" showed up again.  
Rogers, Romanoff, Sitwell on the roof of a high building.

  
I looked at the clock, I had barely five minutes left. This had to be the scene; I didn't have time to look up for another one. I turned the next couple of pages, looking for Scarlett's screen name and exclaimed a " hell yes!" of relief. Natasha had barely two little lines in that whole scene and Steve Rogers had easily ten more and I was ready to ignore the obvious sexism of it as long as it meant I would be able to deliver all my lines without getting busted. Fuck feminism.  
The make-up artist and Lindsay looked at me with inquisitive eyes. I smiled embarrassingly at them through the mirror. "I've only got two lines...just two lines".

  
A few minutes later, I was confidently walking across the set to the studio, almost strutting around, but mostly holding back the urge to shout "I know my lines!" from the rooftops. Don't laugh at me. Who can honestly say they wouldn't take pride in stepping into a famous actor's life and managing to stand in their shoes without screwing it all up?  
I repeated my line mentally over and over and with the same excitement and contentment as Dory in Finding Nemo. I started replaying the scene in the movie, "P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming"; I mentally sang the lyrics .

  
"Hi" a guy standing on the side in comfortable bermudas exclaimed.  
I waved at him. "Hey!" I answered mirroring the tone of his voice, "...whoever you are" I added in a low voice.

  
"Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming" I kept humming. My hectic heartbeat had magically returned to a more normal pace. When you think about those people who were unnecessarily taking antidepressants when they could have been singing Dory's song instead, what a waste.

  
I stepped onto the set with big eyes, scanning every detail of the setting, starting with the gigantic green screen that was hard to miss even if I had wanted to snub it.  
The crew was getting prepared while several people were walking back and forth across the set. I gulped then mentally hummed again "Just keep swimming" as I sheepishly made my way over.

  
"Johansson!" somebody called. I turned and saw a hot, Black guy, waving at me while two members of crew seemed to be fixing something on his back. The man waved at me to come over. I started to elaborate a way of having a friendly conversation with him and get round the fact I had no idea who he was. Seeing by the prop he was having placed on his back and the two guys in charge of doing it, he was an actor. Could he be the Sitwell guy? I slightly furrowed my brows, skeptical. Could he be the Winter Soldier? I looked him up and down searching for a wintery reference. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? What makes a character a "winter soldier"?

"Getting my wings fixed then the Falcon will be unleashed!" he bragged to me with a grin.  
I nodded and mentally thanked him. I opened the script on the page of which I had previously folded the corner and read the note: "the Falcon flies in".

Half of the way had been made, I knew who this guy played in the movie; now I needed to know what his real name was. There wasn't a very subtle way to obtain somebody's name, was it?

"So rumor has it you're lurking after my red balloon", he said. Red balloon! On the premise that there was only one actor on this loony set who had had the idea to knot a red balloon to their trailer (yeah, I know, that was a wobbly and daring statement to start from), it was very likely that this guy was...McKillen. McCain? No, I would have definitely remembered if it were this name. McColl? McCooey?

I let out a silent sigh of despair, giving up. McDude pointing his finger at me with a serious face and cold eyes. "Don't touch the balloon" he warned, making a slight pause between each word for dramatic effect. I shrugged. Whatever McRedBalloonFetish.

"I prefer blue balloons, anyway", I said matter-of-faactly. He smirked. "That oozed jealousy".  
I slightly tilted my head and smiled. The guy wasn't so bad; and I could use a work buddy. He had the humor...and he had the intel I needed.

"So" I started as I stepped up next to him and rested my forearm on his shoulder, "where's the boss?". First thing I had to know as an actor was the face of the director I was going to work with.  
My brand new BFF puffed. "That was a good one" he conceded "They really share the same brain. Can you believe yesterday they both told me the same joke only three minutes apart? Literally, the first one walked off and the other one showed up and said: 'Hey, wanna hear a good one?' And trust me, it's hard to laugh twice at the same joke in a three-minute slot".

I nibbled my bottom lip: this seriously lacked valuable names. Just my luck. At least, I knew they were two directors on that set, and based on how everybody seemed keen to joke on their likeness, it wasn't far-stretched to assume they were brothers.  
That was little information but I was slightly less clueless than a few minutes before.

"Wings fixed" one of the assistants said. McBFF nodded, "Be prepared for the Falcon!" he roared to me before majestically flying away to higher skies under the eyes of the admirative audience. Nah, just kidding, he nicely made his way to the other side of the set; on foot.

I focused on my initial mission again. I looked behind the camera hoping to catch a glimpse of two guys wearing caps with the words "Director" written on them in capital letters. Sadly, that was not how the cinema industry worked. I looked over the cameras and my eyes widened; no, instead of caps, they had awesome chairs with every cast member's name written on them! How could I forget this detail?  
I swiftly walked across the set, almost flying (take that, Falcon) and admired the chairs, less for their symbol than the precious help they were about to offer me. The smile on my face suddenly disappeared as I reached the chairs.  
"Nooo!" I cried in frustration as I read the names written on the chairs: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson. What kind of studio had the idea to use the names of the movie characters instead of the actors'? I didn't know whether to think it was brilliant or extremely dumb. In other circumstances, I would have found it awesome; but today, Gosh that sucked! How was I going to go fishing for information, now? And I was even more confused now. And who the hell was that Sam Wilson character?

"That's almost brainwashing, don't you think?" a familiar male voice said. I turned to face the guy who would be sitting on the Steve Rogers chair: the jellybeans butcher.  
"Tell me about it" I grumbled. I looked up and found him smiling at him.  
I dropped the script on my chair in surrender. All I had to was was hope that Marvel never plays some kind of "Give the directors' name or you're fired" surprise game.

I walked up to the center of the set and stood in the middle of what was supposedly a building roof, though it was nothing more than the replica of a ground, a backdoor leading to a wall and of course the green screen. A crew member, whom I totally ignore the job position, showed us how my character would kick the guy playing Sitwell off the edge to make him fall twenty impressive inches below. The crew member (I think he was a choreographer or something close) made me practice my face kick first "one last time" though it was whole new for me, then several times until I got the trick. He then looked at me as if he were asking all the gods how he had ended up with an incompetent unable to perform a kick she had been practicing for the last few weeks then walked away. Well, his face didn't' exactly say that, but that was definitely what I would have thought if I were in his shoes.

I stood up on the edge and looked down at the air mattress, -which I later found out was called a low fall air bag-, carefully placed on the real ground.  
"Well" I said to myself with an unimpressed pout "that's disappointing". That was a bit like watching a myth falling down in front of me. Obviously I knew about special effects, CGI and actors not sacrificing for real for the greater good of the film industry (or Sean Bean wouldn't have had the carreer we know), but I certainly expected more than this.  
Evans laughed outloud as if I had just told a great joke."I mean, come on, does the air bag really have to be that thick? He won't even break a toe even if he tried".  
"Shall we kill Max to make you feel better?"  
"Well he's supposed to be a villain after all, right?" I ironised with a smirk.  
Evans slightly nodded, joining in the game. "Technically he's just a minion so throwing him off a real building might be considered bullying".  
"A pretty drastic and permanent method of bullying" I chimed in.

"Oh well" he said with a shrug "he dies in the next scene, anyway".  
My hand was over his mouth the second after he had voiced the words. "No spoilers!" I cried. Why had it been decided that Chris triceps Evans would be ruining my day solely using his mouth?  
Evans playfully pushed my arm away. "You're weird, today" he chuckled. How could he even make such an assumption? It wasn't not like he really knew Scarlett, anyway. From what I had gathered, the filming had been going for a short period of time, so it was not like those two were super buddies.  
"Everybody on set" a voice called. I looked towards the camera and saw two men standing behind, moving their hands around while talking.I finally knew what my bosses looked like. Now I just had to know their names.  
"Are you ready?" Evans asked naturally. His assumption pinched my ego.  
"Of course, I am. I was born ready!" I responded. 'Duh' was technically missing but it had definitely been there in spirit.  
"Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming" I sang in my head.

* * *

  
Two miserable lines. That is all I had to say and I failed miserably. I had swum so fast and confidenlty I had violently hit the wreck of the Titanic upfront and made it sink a second time around.  
"Oh, wait. What about that girl from accounting, Clara...?" I said. "Cut" said 'director with glasses'. I paused, clueless. "Her name is Laura", he rectified.

I apologized and we started again. "Oh, wait. What about that girl from accounting, Lara...?". "Laura" Evans whispered to me while pretending to rub his nose. "Laura" I repeated louder. "Cut", called 'director with glasses' again as annoyance started to slip out. He looked at me like he wanted to shoot me, and I didn't blame him for that. I was a burden. I would have jumped off that fake-ass roof if iI were positive I had even just the slightest chance of banging my empty head.  
And then there was this retake when I said the good name and couldn't control the fist pump that followed as a natural reaction.  
"Cut" 'director number two' exclaimed, "We caught that fist pump on camera". A long and desperate wail escaped my lips whilst Evans was laughing his ass off like there was no tomorrow.

After numerous takes piling up more and more inanities such as blurting out "P.Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way" aloud, the scene finally went smoothly:  
"Oh, wait. What about that girl from accounting, Laura...?" I said while mentally blocking my fists or any other parts of my body.  
"Lillian. Lip piercing, right?", Evans answered in character. I could have focused on the obvious smirk that was threatening to plaster all over his face at any moment but I was too busy keeping in mind to deliver my second line at a perfect timing.  
"Yeah, she's cute", I finished.  
"Cut", director with glasses exclaimed before adding after a sligh pause, "Scarlett, can you relax your facial muscles? Natasha is supposed to be really chill in this scene". Evans, who had been trying to muffle his snigger with a clenched fist over his mouth, let it all out and roared into laughter; his cheeks turning red, a hand holding his freaking left boob. It was official: my ego was sore and bruised, and Evans had largely contributed to thrashing it.

So I did it. I jumped.

"I can't take it anymore" I wailed before climbing up on the edge and taking the leap upwards, arms open like a sea star. I squashed on the air bag (way too soon for my liking) and with me, Scarlett's carreer. The fall was short but extremely cathartic. Evans and the crew member were gone for a new fit of laughter.

"Congrats, Scarlett" one of the two directors said. I lifted my head up the bag as my curiosity had just been piqued. "you have officially launched _Cap 2_ gag reel with this footage". Evans started clapping his hands, quickly followed by a general round of applause from the rest of the cast and crew. I sighed and dug my head back inside the air mattress. This certainly wasn't the kind of cheering I had imagined in my head earlier on.

* * *

 

The rest of the day sort of followed the pattern of the agitated morning. A miracle finally came down from the sky in a halo of blinding light and struck my lame ass allowing me to deliver my lines correctly, without stuttering, without quoting Finding Nemo, without frowning, without fist pumping. When director number 2, whose name is Joe Russo, gave the final cut, the crew spared me from any sarcastic comment or gesture. But I didn't. I slow clapped myself (because I had earned it) and walked out of the set.  
I had barely had time to go grab my script and enjoy the thought of curling up soon in Scarlett's bed when Lindsay stepped in and informed me it would be preferable to go pratice some more at the gym and rehearse for the upcoming action scenes with my fight choreographer. I infered the guy who had helped me pratice my face kick earlier on had then bitched about it to my coach over the phone. What a snitch.

I got to the gym less than an hour later and the choreographer gave me shit until the evening. I was a mess; I was a wreck; and most importantly I was sweaty. Believe me, if you knew how my physical activity was usually swaying from very low to nil (swaying closer to nil than very low actually), you would have also put the statements in that order.  
"What happened?" my coach Tony said "Two days ago, you knew all the fight routines perfectly".

I choked for air then stood straight up. "I swapped bodies with a lazy slop" I smiled. Tony puffed and made me start over.

When I reached the hotel, I was sore but proud. My kicks were still weak but I knew most of my fight choreographies. After two or three more intensive sessions like this one, I would be alright; and I was quoting Tony here. I took a long bath and even praticed some moves in the tub. This was growing on me; I didn't know what the final result would look like, but the fight routine itself was really badass. Plus, it seemed like Scarlett's body was taking on old habits. I didn't know how to give a side kick for example, but as soon as I learned how, my leg easily followed.

It was almost 9 p.m when I curled up into the sofa and grabbed the filming schedule and my script. A knck on the door disrupted my homework session. I lazily got up, whined in the process when some of my sore muscles ached, and walked up to the door.

I opened the door and found this annoyingly smug smirk put on a mass of muscles standing in front of me. My eyes bulged in some kind of natural allergic reaction and I slammed the door shut at once in another kind of natural allergic reaction. It will serve me right; mom had always told me not to open the door until I knew who was behind.  
"Come on!" Evans exclaimed amusingly from the hotel corridor "Open the door".

"I'm not in. You just saw the latest Apple hologram version of their voicemail. Leave a message."

"You took the line from _The Avengers!_ " he exclaimed with an outraged voice.  
I frowned. "From what?" I asked numbly.

 I heard him sigh then pause a few seconds.  
"Are you mad because I laughed at you today on set?" he eventually asked. "No shit, man!" I yelled back leaning against the door "What gave it away?".  
"Seriously?" he mused aloud. "I take shit from you all the time, you can't blame me for enjoying it for once the tables were turned".  
What the heck was he even talking about?  
"We've been filming for hardly a week" I reminded him "Tone it down with the victimization crap".  
Evans chuckled. "I didn't get the memo saying the slates had been wiped clean"  
"What are you talking about?" I spat.  
"Huh, hello?, your prank during _The Perfect Score_. I still have nightmares about it".

"The Perfect what?" I repeated. Evans obviously knew more stuff about Scarlett than I did; well probably anybody on that set knew more stuff about her than I did, but he seemed to have valuable information. "Wait a sec" I said, talking to the door, "I'm gonna google it".

I heard Evans voice a strong and genuine "what the fuck?" and I ran across the room to get Scarlett's phone and walk back to my initial position. I typed the search words on _Google_ and clicked on the _imdb_ page that was being suggested. _The Perfect Scor_ e was a 2004 movie starring Scarlett and Evans. Oops for the googling mention.

  
I browsed through the movie stills as I leaned against the door, making myself comfortable. I sniggered . "You looked like a munchkin!"  
Evans cleared his throat with more noise than it was necessary. "Is that your payback for today?"

I ignored his question and started musing. He had known Scarlett for nine years; and apparently they were more than mere costars. And alas, that made him the best informer I could hope for. Does that mean I was ready to spend more time around him? Obviously, that was a _no_.

I cracked the door open and found my future tell-tale patiently waiting, his arm leaning on the doorframe. He eyed me inquisitively to know whether I would invite him in. I had to find a major turn-off. And fast.  
"Don't even try to come in. I just farted" I warned. Evans combined two facial expressions: he first widened his eyes with his mouth slightly open, then rolled them at me and puffed. "And I don't want to go down for first degree murder just yet" I continued.  
Honestly, I couldn't care less about the effect this little joke could have. This wasn't my reputation I was hypothetically tarnishing after all, but Scarlett's; and if that was going to erode whatever bond those two had, then it wasn't a relationship worth preserving in the first place. It wouldn't be my fault if an unfortunate gas story was strong enough to...blow it off.

"Why are you laughing?" Evans asked with an arched eyebrow, pulling me out of my digression.  
I interrupted my silent giggling right away. "Nothing" I said "I was laughing at a pun".

Evans started to step forward dangerously. I took a firm and apparent grip of the knob. "Don't make me swing the door back and forth!" I warned.  
He first laughed at my unexpected threat then eyed me thoroughly before putting the back of his hand on my forehead.

"Are you sure you're alright?", he asked without the hint of a joke, much more in a brotherly voice. He looked right into my eye, like he saw something beyond it, much further. "You seem...different". The intensity of his stare gave me the impression he had been the very first person on this crazy day to have actually looked through Scarlett and perceived my shadow. It made me feel exposed.  
I looked away and took a step back. "I'm feeling sleepy" I said without lying. "I need some rest". He nodded quietly but slightly concerned. I gently closed the door and waited there a second.

Maybe tomorrow, he would get the Scarlett he knew back.


	4. Researching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your reviews; they give me life! Here's another chapter. Don't forget to leave your feedbacks, you'll be doing a good deed. ;)

The next morning, I woke up with the pleasant feeling of numbness. For the first five seconds, my mind was quiet, peaceful. When I reached the fourth second, all the memories from the day before stormed back in: body swap, Johansson, Captain America shooting, Chris Evans (ugh), jumping off a barely two feet long building, training to death. I kept my eyes tightly shut and laughed. That had to be my most creative dream ever. Obviously, I couldn't have possibly swapped bodies with anybody, and certainly not with a movie actress. Now, all I needed to do was to prove it to my dubious mind. I jerked the upper half of my body up, raised my hands, and exclaimed "boo!" as I opened my eyes to face the familiar decoration of my bedroom. I saw the unfamiliar decoration of the hotel room instead.

I let out a groan of frustration and fell back on the mattress. "Whyyyyy?" I cried out for two good minutes as I buried my face in the oh so annoyingly enjoyable luxury fibre pillow.  
When I finally processed and sort of accepted the obvious truth, I turned and grabbed the notepad I had put on my bedside cabinet for the case I wouldn't wake up from an elaborate dream.

_Point number 8: Fuck, cock, balls! It wasn't an elaborate dream!_

Followed by another thought:

_Point number 9: Note to self: call the reception and ask them where I can buy one of those fibre pillows for when I go back home_

I skimmed through my previous notes and read again the only new one I had added in the evening and underlined it, because, well, it was probably the most important one.

_Point number 7: I have decided to hate Chris Evans because he ate my jellybeans. This is a reminder to yourself if you dare to divert from that path, bitch_

"Hell, I won't", I muttered.

  
I took a look at the clock. I had one good hour before Lindsay would come and take me on set. I called the reception and asked for a breakfast. I then made my way to the bathroom, looked at my new reflection and silently stepped into the tub.

But the best moment of the morning happened when I got dressed. My outfit was pretty basic, nothing to squeal about; the underwear though was another story. Once I had put on jeans and a top, I opened the drawer to choose my socks. I smiled deviously. The pair of pink, old, socks had been put in evidence as a reminder. How cute. Scarlett Johansson hadn't lied: she did wear pink socks. But Evans would never see them. At least, not until I would be in this body. I looked at all the other pairs of socks rolled into balls. I put my hand over my eyes, held my arm up and my forefinger down and drew invisible circles above the open drawer. Then I froze and took the ball that was right under where my forefinger had stopped.

I put the hand covering my eyes down and looked at the pair of socks that had been just randomly picked. Fate had decided: today's socks would be gray.  
I ate my breakfast while reading my lines. Today was a new day. I knew everything that needed to be known: I knew the names of the whole cast and their respective role in the movie; I knew the directors were called Anthony and Joe Russo; I knew McDude was actually called Anthony Mackie (and didn't have one single drop of Irish blood)and I kind of felt disappointed because McDude was a much better name; I knew when filming would finish and the different locations we would head to. God bless America, _imdb_ and _Wikipedia_.

I put my script down on the table for a minute and grabbed the pen and my notepad instead.

_Point number 10: Remember to make a donation to imdb and wikipedia._

Yeah, I knew a lot of things, now; but I would soon not remember much. Problem was, I had a pretty bad memory. Yesterday's circus show was a pretty solid proof of that statement. I had to think of a practical and easy way to recall at any moment the name of every member of cast and crew. I gently tapped the pen against my chin until an idea popped up.

I snapped my fingers in satisfaction and took Scarlett's phone. I browsed her call history and sent a text to Lindsay.

_Hey. I need sticky notes. Bring a pad with you, ok?_

I pouted and decided to send one more text that would soften the previous one.

_:) :D ;) <3_

I pressed SEND and wondered how I was supposed to treat this assistant without making her feel like a slave, but without sounding like a loony neither. Something told me I had failed on that last point. After how many emojis could we tragically slip from friendly to creepy?

And then I realized: the problem here wasn't just the number. A heart, really?

Another thing I had found out with the help of Google was that Evans wasn't a big, fat liar to my dismay. He and Scarlett had known each other for almost ten years and, much to my regret, they were pretty close. Jeez. I sighed thinking of the consequence their friendship would have on me. I could not take it.  
I held the pen and added one more point.

Point number 11: Crush, smash, squash Evans and Scarlett's friendship.

I sniggered devilishly like any self-respecting movie villain would just for the sake of it (because it was pretty rare to get the opportunity to do it) then my conscience caught me again. That was a legitimate and good, -if not brilliant-, idea but we were three people in this relationship, and if there was one thing life had taught me, it was that minority was often right but always lost.

I sighed and crossed it out.

* * *

  
Lindsay arrived twenty minutes later with my sticky notes and an awkward rictus. Oh joy, my second text had made its effect but not the one I wanted.

We got in the car and drove to the set as I mentally elaborated my operation _Sticky notes can save a life_.  
I curled up on the backseat using my thighs as a prop to write on my post-it notes.

"Lindsay?" I asked while meticulously filling in each piece of paper. She lifted her eyes off the planning she was reading with an inquisitive look. "Are you gonna be on set all day, today?".

"I have many things to sort out" she answered "unless you need me to go get something for you?".

I shook my head and shrugged. "No. But I'm gonna have to ask you to turn a blind eye and keep your lips sealed about this. Alright?"

"On what?". I put my pen down and looked at her grinning. "You'll soon figure it out".

Filming wouldn't start for me until the beginning of the afternoon, which was perfectly convenient.

I impatiently tapped my fingers against the table while the make-up artist was doing her job. I felt like the information I had been gathering the night before were already starting to slip away. I remembered less and less the face going with the name written below, which was why I had noted it with a short comment of each member. Some light and enjoyable words that would help me get acquainted with this new - and busy, entourage of mine.

As soon as she finished, I jumped out of my seat and ventured around the set. Operation _Sticky notes can save a live_ was officially on.

I made my way to the first place I would not have any problem to find: Mackie's trailer.

Ten minutes later, I was still looking around. Was it a habit to move the trailers over night?

I heard a door swing and saw Mackie walking out of a random-looking white trailer.

"Where's your red ballon?" I asked as I hid my sticky notes behind my back.  
He shrugged. "It burst. I found its deflated carcass hanging down the string."

I walked up to him and tapped his shoulder with the palm of my hand. "Aww, I'm sorry" I said pouting.  
I sighed, "I told Evans he should better avoid punching into it but obviously he didn't listen". Mackie looked at me inquisitively like a detective on the edge of solving the most mysterious case of his carreer. "But please, let's keep that between us. I'd hate to get him into trouble", I said with an innocent smile.

"Chris? Have you seen him?" He turned his back at me to scan his surroundings and it was the moment I chose to detach the first post-it. "You can't possibly ask me to betray him" I protested but Mackie looked at me again just when I was about to reach up. "He's over there!" I exclaimed as I pointed at the opposite direction. Anthony's body immediately rotated towards it and I gently stuck the note on his back.

_Anthony Mackie - I believe I can fly_

"Well, gotta go!" I said one second after.

I made my way all around the set, discreetly sticking a piece of paper on all the people I had managed to identify. With the others, I followed my luck. As silly as that all thing was, it was a very good mnemonic and a stimulating exercise. I naturally greeted people I was walking past after reading their name on the sticky note.  
After one hour, I had used all of my sticky notes except one that I had kept as my alibi. When the first notes started to be discovered and the first frowns to lay on some foreheads, I wrote a quick comment and clumsily stuck it on my back. I walked around the set feigning oblivion.

I suddenly caught a glimpse of Mackie, Evans and other actors talking while holding their respective neon-colored note. I inhaled as I prepared for an act they wouldn't forget.

"The hell?" I cried as I ripped the note of my back, and caught the attention of all the group in the process, "who is the asshole who did this?". I walked over to them and proudly waved my note as an explanation of my sudden outburst, and a proof of my innocence.

"You've also got a note?" Frank Grillo asked.

I nodded with my best curious look. "You all had one, too?"

"Yeah", Frank said, "except Chris".

Anthony turned to look him up and down, "yeah, except you", he repeated suspiciously. The tone of his voice screamed accusing while Evans just stood there with his hands in his pockets.

"How come you didn't get one?" Frank asked. The answer was simple: I had deliberately left him out of it in my quest to avoid him; the fact he was now taking the blame for it was just the delicious icing on the cake.

All those suspicious eyes staring at him made him yield. "It's not me!" Evans swore while laughing.

"Nothing says more innocent than a fit of nervous laughter for a defense" I rubbed in.

"Come on!" Anthony added looking at him "This has your signature all over it".

He showed his 'I believe I can fly' note as evidence.

Grillo read his own, "Frank Grillo - Rocky 2.0".

"You know Albert, the lighting tech?" Maximiliano (can I just call him Max?) said "He had a note saying 'Albert- a bright guy lmao'. And I didn't add the 'lmao' part".

The whole group chuckled lightly.

"What does yours say?", Grillo asked me.

I pretended to have a look at it although the joke was graved in my head, always and forever.

"One Shade of Red Johansson, fiddle-dee-dee!" I read. "The person who wrote this has, I must say, terrific movie references" I started to gush "Gone with the Wind is my favourite movie of all time". I started to wonder if the Johanssons had called their daughter after the character. This was a theory I found really pleasant.

"Really?", Evans questioned, furrowing his brows, "I didn't know that."

He then burst into laughter as he took my post-it to have a look at it. I didn't know what felt the most offensive: the fact none of them were laughing at my notes, or the fact he found them funny.

"Now I wish I had a note too. I wonder what it would have been", he pondered outloud still looking at my post-it. Oh that I knew: a target drawn in red.

"Well", I said snatching the paper back, "We are clearly dealing with a desperate, goofy, borderline psychopathic attention-seeker."

"Oh yeah, definitely" Evans commented matter-of-factly "but that's not me."

"Yeah just like you're not the one who burst my balloon" Anthony shrugged.

Evans rolled his eyes. "Give me a break with that balloon. I told you it wasn't me."

"Everybody on set" a voice called.

Anthony kept squinting his eyes at him then made a 'watching you' gesture with two fingers before walking away.

I internally sighed in relief I had not been put in the firing line and headed for my trailer to work on my lines. Lindsay was sitting on the stairs enjoying a coffee.

"Scarlett", Evans called. I paused, inhaled then turned to face him. "I thought we could continue working on our lines this morning", he said.  
I tried not to look at him like I had no idea what he was talking about but apprently my eyes had failed me.  
"Remember Joe and Anthony agreed we could add our personal touch to our dialogues?"

I nodded numbly.  
"Are you free, now?" he asked with a smirk.

I cringed and itched the top of my head. "Now? I'm not sure. I think I 've got this....unfinished thing to finish, and hmm I-"

"You're free all morning" Lindsay so nicely reminded me. She got up and greeted Evans, or more like she greeted his biceps. I was positive, her eyes were glued on them when she smiled and said 'hi'.

"You have the trailer all for yourself. Lena is gone and won't be back until you start shooting."

"And what about you?" I asked hopefully while mentally noting somewhere that my make-up artist was called Lena.  
Lindsay shook her head. "Don't worry about me. I can go somewhere else; I wouldn't want to disturb you while you to are working on your lines."

I shot mental bullets at her. "Aww, bless", I said with my sweetest voice.  
Lindsay actually bought it and kindly smiled at me in a way that seemed to say: 'Don't thank me. I just deeply and truly enjoy fucking with you'.

I silently puffed and went inside the trailer while Evans waved goodbye before following me in.

I sat on a chair, took the first piece of my paper I found and wrote down the name of my make-up artist as a reminder. I had a feeling this brand new information would help the conversation flow more smoothly between us.

When I put the paper away, Evans was already seated watching me. He opened his script and rubbed his shoulder. "So what should we start with?"  
"I don't know, you tell me". I shrugged, not (entirely) because I was trying to speak to him as little as possible, but because I hadn't read the script yet. Yeah, I hadn't; don't judge me. I had spent all the evening before gathering information about the cast and set, then when the intense training session took the best of me I just fell asleep before I had had time to start to read the script.

Evans complied with a nod then chuckled quietly.  
"What's so funny?" I asked.  
"It's just that...you've always been in control of everything; you have already thought through all the details before we even started discussing them. And now you just let me choose and seem to be ready to go with the flow. It's so unlike you."

It was the first time his words fully piqued my interest. "Are you saying I'm a control freak?". Evans held his two hands in defense. "Don't put words in my mouth"  
"I'm asking you", I corrected him, "not trying to start an argument". I tried to sound as nice as possible.

He grinned at me. "So, you're not mad at me anymore?"  
Ok. I didn't mean to sound that nice. "Nah. I'm still mad".

He rolled his eyes at me and paused for a moment, picking his words carefully. "I don't know. I woud say you are more of a meticulous person than a control freak"

I listened to each of his words and processed the information they brought. I felt the need to know more about the person I had become and I realized Evans could be the one who could help me discover her. Interviews would only show me the public persona, Johansson; but he would introduce me to Scarlett. To summarize it: he would be my tool.

"Evans!" I suddenly erupted.

"Johansson" he answered coolly while turning a page of his script.

"Let's play a game" I said.

He paused and looked up at me arching an eyebrow. "You mean play a game casually without altering the fact whatsoever that you are still mad at me?".  
I looked at him with new eyes, mesmerized eyes. This man could read my mind. "Exactly!" I cheered.

He laughed lightly and sighed, "Shoot."

"Okay it's a game to test if we really know each other. We're both gonna say one nice thing that would describe the other best"

Evans nodded with an unenthusiastic pout. He probably thought the game was crap and I totally gave him that, but it was also the only efficient and fast way I had found to collect as much information about Scarlett as possible.

Though, it could get even more efficient and fast.

"What about we say you give two words because you still have to make it up to me, and you add one more word because this game was my idea in the first place, alright?"

"So basically you just want to hear me compliment you?", he smirked.

I looked at him in silence. He surrendered with a wave. "Fine", he said.

"Obviously you start", I chimed in.  
"Obviously", he repeated. I closed my script and looked at him closely. It was actually the first time I was taking the time to dwell on his features. Blue eyes, a straight-edged nose, straight white teeth, full pink lips and a strong jaw line. Yeah, I guess he could have looked decent if he wasn't such a pain in the neck. Under all these harmonious features was hidden an unstoppable jellybean ogre.

Evans captured his bottom lip between his thumb and his forefinger, thinking longly not because he couldn't find anything nice to say, but because he wanted to be accurate. "You're funny, meticulous and...what the heck are you doing?"

"Hmm?", I looked up at him. "Are you taking notes?", he snorted.  
I hid the paper I was writing on with my forearm. "I might be", I retorted, "What are you gonna do about it, anyway? Sue me?". I pointed my pen at him, "Carry on."

"And..." he trailed off "...humble? But now I'm not so sure anymore."

I clicked my tongue. "I could tell you it's research but you wouldn't believe me, anyway"  
"You're right", he said, "I don't believe you".

A long silence followed. "Yeah, right", I remembered. I looked him up and down. What nice thing did I have to say about him? I found one.

"Nice shoes. Your turn."

Evans blinked a few times but kept his comment for himself, which I sort of appreciated because I didn't have neither the will nor the patience to deal with his shit right now...nor ever.  
"Sensible and resourceful, but also dorky" he continued.

I looked at him again. Oh crap, I had already run short of compliments. I would have gladly gotten rid of the chore by mentioning his shirt, but truth was I wasn't a fan of it. Steve Rogers didn't exactly have the best fasion sense in the world. My eyes reached his face and I had an epiphany. I could not believe I had missed that detail.

"You clean shave pretty well"

Evans burst into laughter. "Whoa! You're really good at finding shitty compliments"  
I shook my pen at him. "I'm telling you: this won't count as a compliment."

"Risk-taker, professional, inventive. And now, I want a real compliment", he warned. I put my pen down and took a long breath in. "Or I stop this game", he continued. "That's just plain cruel", I cried. "3.." he started. I felt a virtual drop of sweat run down my temple. Suddenly, another detail of his appearance struck me but..nah, that was way too nice. "2...1...".

"You've got amazing eyelashes!" I gave in. "Honestly, many girls would kill to get the same ones"

Evans stared at me, baffled. "And I'm off here!" he exclaimed as he got up.

"So touchy", I slurred while rolling my eyes. He turned a deaf ear and went towards the exit.

"You can't just walk out in the middle of a game. That's just plain rude!". Evans responded to my last attack with a snort.

"How am I going to finish my list, now?", I complained.

He halted at the door frame, turned and faced me. I watched him with furrowed bows as he put his forefinger right below his right eye and slowly slid it down his cheek with a pouty face. " _Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn_ " he dared to say then dashed off.


	5. In High Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you for the kudos and comments. Here's the new chapter. Leave your feedback, you know the drill ;)

I got back to the hotel room feeling bummed. The day had been almost just as bad as the one before. Evans had clearly had the effect of a jinx after walking out of my trailer and had made me lose all my acting abilities and screw up all my scenes.

After I shot the last scene and received a look of confusion, -if not even of digust, from Anthony Russo, I left the set to go get some shit from my coach at the gym. He slaughtered my muscles, he bruised my skin and finally he killed my ego.

My legs painfully dragged me out of the elevator then down the corridor. I longed for my bed, eager to make sweet love to it until I would fall asleep. Oh how blissful it was going to be. I looked up and was immediately turned off by the sight of my walking jinx waiting by my door.

He leaned one shoulder (why am I even calling it a shoulder? It looked more like a reef) against the door frame.  
"What are you even doing, here?", I spat, "First, yesterday evening and now tonight. Stop stalking me and go back to your hotel".  
I heard him giggle as I took my key card out of my pocket. "Yeah, except all I had to do is walk a few steps to get here".  
I rolled my eyes. How convenient

  
He smirked as he held his hand up to show me the _Gone with the Wind_ DVD.

"Our little bickering totally made me want to rewatch the movie", he purred, "Let me in".  
I shot him a look of consternation and horror in response to his request.

I snatched the DVD out of his hand earning a victory grin from him. I swiped the card and turned the knob.

"Firstly" I started as I turned to face him "This wasn't just a little bickering. This was a war declaration. Secondly, I swore to myself long ago that I would only watch this movie with the man of my love, the man of my dreams yada yada, and you are sooo far from it in a unit of measure that Science can not even comprehend. And thirdly, well you have to know what that thirdly is going to be because it's the logical finale to my short dissertation: you will never get in. Never". I voiced the last word then urgently gasped for air.  
Evans looked at me with the peculiar association of a frown with a grin.

I groaned in frustration. "And for God's sake, stop thinking it's all a game. I am dead serious", I complemented my speech with a cold stare as proof.

For the first time in two days, I finally saw his amused smirk vanish. I am not going to lie, it felt glorious.

I triumphantly walked into my room like any self-respecting almighty Queen of the Bitches would and slammed the door but held it back just when it was about to shut. I pulled the door wide open and put on my best concerned face.  
"And it's a massive offense intended. So please, please ", I begged, "do take it personally".  
I shut the door a second later just when he whined: "And my DVD?"

  
I hopped towards the sofa, suddenly taken by a new wave of energy and good mood I thought I had lost for good, then I sprawled down on the couch. I opened my bag, -well Scarlett's, whatever, and took the paper I had written notes on earlier in the morning.

  
 _funny_

_meticulous_

_humble_

_sensible_

_resourceful_

_dorky_

_risk-taker_

_professional_

_inventive_

 

I grabbed the pen on the table and started chewing it. Could I pretend to be Scarlett?  
"Let's see if I'm any of these...", I hummed.

 _Funny_. I rolled my eyes and huffed. Obviously. That went without saying. I drew a tick.

 _Meticulous_. Was I meticulous? Definitely...from time to time. Could we say I was meticulous that day I spent three hours choosing the color of the dress my main character was going to wear on chapter 12? Yes. Was I meticulous that time I accidentally poured soda on Tommy Bailey's science project in 9th grade, or on Mrs Schmidt's freshly delivered package last week? Probably not.  
I pondered a few seconds then put a tick. "I am meticulous...as long as it benefits me".

 _Humble_. Well, I was not taking advantage ~~yet~~ of my sudden big Hollywood star status, so that deserved a tick of encouragement.

 _Sensible_. I cringed. This was definitely not in my top 5 qualities (and it was probably not in the top 10 either). I was foolish, irrational and senseless more often than I wished, but somehow it worked just fine in my life...well, if you put aside the professional, social and love life. But who needs those anyway?  
I drew a cross.

 _Resourceful_. Seven words: Operation Sticky notes can save a life. Did I really need to justify more to get you convinced? I put a giant tick.

 _Dorky_. Did I really need to answer that? I was born dorky. I probably got out of my mother's uterus doing a moonwalk. How awesome would that be, though? The thing was, I was not completely sure whether I was more of a loon than a dork. I ticked it anyway.

 _Risk-taker_. I jumped out of a building, or more like, my ego jumped out of a fake building. This takes some balls anyway. Another tick.

 _Professional_. I almost screeched. My weakness, my torment, my hell, why shall thou beset me? I besought thee to show me the path to good fortune; alas! thou told me to fuck off.  
Sadly, it was a cross.

 _Inventive_. Gosh, I had to be! It was the flame burning in every person longing to be a writer; it was the string in the candle, the hole in the donut, the bubbles in the soda.  
I took my notepad and scribbled a new bullet point.

_Point number 12 : Does my soda have bubbles? Am I more of a Coke or a Pepsi, though? Coca-Cola is definitely fizzier...but Pepsi bubbles live longer in the mouth. Pepsi is more sweet and fruity though._

A text on the phone interrupted my train of thoughts.

_Mackie 7:57_  
 _Now that we have kicked ass and taken names, what about we paint the town red tonight?_

I looked closely at the text on the screen. This had to be the most sensible idea in this batty situation. Plus, alcohol could do miracles on sore muscles. No, that's bullshit, I just made that up, but the point was YES YES YES!

  
I put my papers down on the sofa: I woud drop the soda thoughts for tonight to let my head get filled with spirits instead.

* * *

  
By the time I walked into the bar, I found the whole cast sipping their drinks in the VIP area. Excuse me, could we just take a minute to appreciate the fact I was treading a VIP room for the first time evah'? The excitment, the pleasure of being privileged; I felt intoxicated before I had even had a drink. The group cheered when they saw me then squeezed to leave some room for me to sit.

"There she is!", Mackie exclaimed while giving me a high-five. "Are you ready for tonight?", he said wobbling his eyebrows just as the waiter approached to hand me the menu.

I took it and protectively put it under my elbow.

"Let's start with a strong mojito", I said.

Mackie high-fived me for the second time in less than a minute, this time with the only strength of his look.

My eyes scanned the group and quivered a bit at the sight of Evans. As much as a part of me was hoping a cast date night could happen without the main member of it, I still felt slightly piqued. Sitting opposite me on Anthony's right, he laughed then took a sip of his beer as he shot a brief but elusive look at me. I was internally glad to see he knew where he was standing...and the answer was, as far from me as possible.

The mojito arrived just then (oh the joy of the VIP treatment) and I drank it up in one gulp, earning howlings from the rest of the group. I waved at the waiter to bring another glass.

"Just so you know", I breathed out after swallowing, "I plan on getting thrashed tonight. I have stuff to celebrate."

I held firmly the second mojito followed by the rest of the group staring at me expectantly.

I raised my glass high. "Let's drink to my dumb-founding performances from the last couple of days". A mix of shy giggles and sheer laughters resonated in the room as our glasses clinked together. I felt a wave of heat rush through me and blur my mind as I swallowed down.

* * *

"And let's drink to drink to Jeremy's flat bum" I wailed before drinking for the umpteenth time.  
"Huh, I'm here", Jeremy said matter-of-factly.

This sent me and the rest of the group in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Okay, okay" Anthony started with a smug smirk "Who's up for-"  
"I am!" I raised my arm up with the untold goal of touching the ceiling.

He laughed, "You don't even know what I'm going to suggest".  
I tried to hold my gaze still and steady as I looked at him.  
"Does it involve booze?", I asked loudly.  
"Yes"  
"Then I'm all up for it, McDude"

The whole group burst into laughter, Evans being the loudest.  
"Oh man", he howled, "I love that nickname. I think I'm going to call you McDude from now on".  
"Why McDude?", Anthony asked me with an amused tone.  
"I call you McDude", I paused as I thought through the order to put my next words in, "every time...every time...I forget your name". I took a nonexistent sip from my empty glass. "I have a confession to make. It happens often". I haf a hiccup and giggled. "All the time, to be completely honest. But it's not personal, it's just that I have a memory like a cracked sieve."

"And let's drink to that", Grillo said.

Anthony explained the rules of his game: from what I understood, we had to drink one shot each, one after the other, until you decided to call it quits and therefore take a dare.  
The shots soon arrived and the game started. Had we not been drinking for quite some time already, this game could have actually lasted longer than it did. After two rounds, half of the group had forfeited, after four, we were only three people: me, Mackie and Evans.

At the end of the fourth round, Mackie was already showing signs of weakness such as lots of sweating and little bit of talking.

"You're awfully quiet", Evans sniggered gladly playing the whole psychological side of any drinking game, "Are you afraid to open your mouth and have something other than words coming out of it?"

We both laughed as Anthony tried to keep his composure, slighty raising the corner of his mouth into what was supposed to look like a smirk but turned out to be a sneer of pure affliction.

"You two can keep laughing", he grunted, "but I'm pretty sure my skin is sweating alcohol".

He ran a finger over his forehead then held it up under his nose, carefully smelling it.

"OK, when you lose" I said as I took the shot glass to my lips, "I'll dare you to taste it and tell us if your theory is actually true fact."

"I second that", Evans said as he sprawled his arms up over the couch.

Anthony huffed. "That's not an exciting dare"

I gulped down my drink and loudly put the empty glass on the table. "And you'll have to tweet the answer!", I exclaimed. Everybody howled and laughed in approval.  
"Are you turned on, now?", I purred teasingly whilst the rest of the group laughed.

Mackie glared at me entirely aware he had just drunk for the last time tonight. He pointed at me, "I won't forget it, Johansson. You've got to lose. Oh man, you've got to lose!"  
He leaned on towards Evans. "Chris, I'm counting on you. Don't let her win. I don't care if it implies you getting a liver transplant by the end of the night, but don't let her win at any cost".

And that was when my anti-Evans radar, that had been in sleep mode since the beginning of the evening, switched back on, with full power. Besides his best buddy's sacred plea, I didn't doubt Evans and his six-pack had every reason to want to beat me to this game. I had not been tender with him those last couple of days, and he would be a complete dumbass not to take this opportunity to take revenge. Hell, that's what I would do if the ables were turned. I would make sure to make him cry his eyes out.

We were now both facing each other, silent and focused.

I could not tell when the vibe changed exactly but it had changed -at least, in my mind. I had left all my smiles and innocent jokes behind in the dust for fear of being slowed down by their weight. I would make my way to the finish line only armed with my determination and my sarcasm on each side of my belt (please now play the "Man with a Harmonica" theme in your head).

"Are you sure you're ready for this?", I said, squinting my eyes.  
He frowned at me with a confused look. "Why are you talking like a cowboy?"

Ok, let's just stop with the _Once Upon a Time in the West_ soundtrack, shall we?  
I clumsily waved it off. "What-ever", I spoke loudly, "are you ready for this?"

Evans took my attempt of intimidation for what it was, a scam. He drank his shot. "Please", he answered with a voice that sounded way too sober for my liking, "You're dead drunk".

I let out an exagerrated gasp of indignation. "That's sexist", I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow though he couldn't restrain the grin quickly expanding across his face. "How so?"  
I paused a few seconds, searching with my eyes in the void of my mind. This line had always helped me make a guy shut up; it was a dangerous minefield that no man wanted to venture to.

"I don't know", I conceded, "but it is! I just need some time to think this through."

I survived the fifth round just fine, but at the sixth one, I started to weaken slightly.

...

...

Ok, fine, I was a wreck.

I had left my smiles and innocent jokes behind a long time ago, but apparrently my brain had also decided to unburden itself of the trouble of making coherent sentences. Syntax, vocabulary and intonation became old memories. My questions sounded like interjections or affirmatives, but nobody bothered to make the translation of tonality because they could not understand them anyway.  
Did that irk me? Not the least, as long as it assured victory.

I bellowed at Evans who was sitting erect as an invitation for him to take his turn.

The rest of the group had sort of lost interest in our drinking feud and were chatting around at the bar and other parts of the room.  
I looked down at my immense shot glass. If only we took a short break, I knew I could gather up enough strength to have another glass and win.

Evans moved down the sofa until he was sitting just next to me.  
"You wanna take a break?", he suggested sympathetically.  
"No", I blurted out defensively, channelling as much outrage as possible in my current state. I looked at my glass again and heard my stomach, my liver and my esophagus all telling me to piss off.  
I looked up at him and pouted. "Yes", I weeped weakly as I pressed my head against his shoulder. I heard him muffle a chuckle then he gently squeezed my shoulder.

I remained in this posture and quiet for several minutes, not because it was pleasant, certainly not because it was romantic, but because my body could not take it anymore. Everything was spinning, going up and plunging, braking hard then turning backwards; my head was doing fucking roller coasters.

But I was not complaining: no matter how heavy my body felt, my mind was finally lightweight. I stopped thinking about my body, about my former life, about Jack, about my lines, about my fight choreographies, about not slipping anything compromising, about the consequences my actions could have on Scarlett's life; I stopped thinking of every thing I had to do well and of every thing I had done wrong.

Evans' free arm reached up to the table and his fingers delicately wrapped around my glass, grazing my palm in the process. He took the shooter and drank it up then put it back on its formal place. He then took his dink put on the side and pushed it away with a noisy moan.  
"I give up!", he exclaimed loud and clear for everyone to hear.  
I blinked twice and sit up staring at him with inquisitive eyes.

Mackie came running to record the facts and assess the damages. He glanced back and forth at our two glasses.  
"Daaaamn", he groaned. He shot a reproachful look at Evans. "Seriously, man?"

Evans shrugged and shook his head. "What can I say? She's good. I owe you a liver"  
I started giggling. Somehow, at that exact moment, with this precise phrasing, his joke was hilarious.

Anthony grumbled. "You totally do".

I watched the whole scene numbly...mainly because I could no longer form sentences, remember? Then I giggled some more.

The rest of the cast gathered up around our table and cheered.

"I'm taking her back to the hotel", Evans said. I complied in silence and stood up and guided me with one hand slightly pressed on my side.

"Let's raise our glasses to the winner", Max suggested.

I paused a moment then took Evans' drink left on the table and put the glass up.

"Let's drink to Scarlett", I erupted before bursting into chuckles, "I am sure she would have been veeeery proud of me".

Evans put my jacket over my shoulders and gently pressed me to keep moving. "I didn't know you referred to yourself in the third person when you were drunk", he murmured. I waved goodbye at Scarlett's friends as he led me away.

 

Some inderminate time later, we were both walking in the hotel. My giggles echoed in the hall and Evans urged me to hush. I nodded and put my finger on my lips. I tiptoed all my way to the elevator until I saw the receptionist standing behind his counter.

"Shh", I turned to Evans, "we can't wake up the kind man over there". I pointed at the receptionist.

"Good evening", he said.

"Shhhh", I snapped at him, "you are going to wake yourself up!"

Evans let out a soft chuckle that I muffled with my hand over his mouth. The receptionist smiled at me and nodded in a wordless promise to prevent such a thing from happening.

 

The doors of the elevator opened and we stepped inside.

My mental focus on remaining silent was disturbed by the sight of the large mirror.  
I took a couple of steps backwards and stood straight before it and turned my head as far as possible to contemplate the reflection of my behind.

"What the hell are you doing?", Evans asked.

I tilted my head towards the mirror. "I want to know what my new ass looks like!"  
He raised an eyebrow. "New? How long have you had this new ass for?"  
"Two days", I exclaimed. I slapped my bum then laid my hands on each cheek. "I think it's an awesome ass. What do you think?"

Evans quickly avoided any eye contact and urgently pounded on the button in a desperate attempt to get the elevator to reach our floor faster.

"What do you think?", I repeated.  
He shook his head and went on another drumps session with the button.  
"You can't possibly ask me to answer this question?", he protested with a strange mix of amusement and panic.

"Why not?"  
"Because I will be in trouble no matter what I answer. If I say no, I'm a fucking asshole, if I say yes, I'm a fucking perv"

"Ooh", I mused, "that is indeed hard". I let go of the ass contemplation to catch this new thought. "But what if you say you don't know?'"  
"Then, I'm a fucking liar", he answered coolly.

I giggled and looked at the mirror again.

"This isn't working", I complained. I leaned the upper part of my body downwards and locked my arms around my calves before looking up.

"Ok" I started with my head upside down, "I have two statements to make".

Evans watched the whole scene with amazement.

"First, I am so flexible. Look at that. I can put my head between my legs, right below my ass. Which leads to my second statement! My ass looks nice from down here."

"Happy to hear", he commented casually.

 

The doors opened and I could swear I almost heard him sigh in relief. He gently led me along the corridor then took my my key card out of my bag to swipe the door open.

I turned to face him and put my hands on each side of his ridiculously massive shoulders. "Now that we have shared such a bonding moment, I feel like I owe you the truth". He stood quietly, looking at me expectantly. "I can't stand you", I burst into a fit of giggles.

Evans rolled his eyes. "Well, that's no flash news, you've been hammering it into me for two days"

He swiped the card and opened the door.  
"What I don't get", he continued with a calm but bitter voice, "is why you only tell me this now? Why did you wait nine years?"

I winced at him. "What? Naaaah!", I howled with a mocking tone, "Not nine years. Only two days". I paused. "Even though technically two days is not correct because I actually showed you I didn't like you pretty shortly after I met you. So that means I only kept it secret for three minutes, tops."

"Wait, what?", he cut me off, "why two days? Why is everything two days with you?"

"Because that's when I got here", I huffed at him, totally judging him for his inability to follow the conversation. Did I really have to explain _everything_ here?

"Scarlett is gone, and now I'm here. First it was cool when I saw her fashion deisgner clothes, but now it's a big clusterfuck. I have to learn the lines, and now I can't find Mac...Mac? I can't find McDude's trailer because his red balloon burst. And I also have to remember to make a donation to imdb and wikipedia just like I remind myself not to wear the pink socks just to piss you off. So far, I'm doing well with that. And I'm feeling so lonely, here. And I miss Jack. I hope he's eating well. Do you think he misses me? I don't want him to be sad because I'm gone...or actually, I'm a bitch, because I totally want him to be sad and depressed about it. But not too much. Just enough to remember me. That makes me a bitch, doesn't it?"

"Wow, you're totally wasted", he concluded.

He made sure I stepped into the room then walked away.  
"I'm telling the truth", I popped my head out and whined, "Come back tomorrow and I will prove it to you".

  
The next morning, to my dismay, he was knocking on my door.


	6. Five stages, five acts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! New update! Please, let the comments rain! (a girl can dream...but I'm serious)

I woke up with the unmeasurably pleasant feeling of having had all my insides washed up in bleach. I kept my eyes closed and instinctively covered my stomach with a hand.

"Please", I muttered, "I'm okay with the Irish flu but let me be at home".

I mentally counted in my head until I started to get a migraine halfway between 1 and 2, and stopped. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling. No matter how fast it was spinning, I still could tell it wasn't mine. Damn, reality was harsh.

"Fuuuck", I groaned both in reluctance and physical agony.

I got out of my bed (crawled out would actually be a more accurate description) and made my way to the bathroom.

I was usually a pro at repressing the 'technicolor yawn', but apparently Scarlett's body lacked practice in it.

Well, I guess I would have to go back to my college annals and use my old tricks. The worst part was I could not even hang on to the memory of the awesome night I had had to make it up for my current condition. I was basically suffering for the sake of feeling awful.

A violent and continuous pounding on the door (or perhaps was it just a knock, but my brain couldn't be bothered to tell them apart) interrupted my ritual and got me out of the bathroom. Could it be that the hotel was so awesome that the staff had already sent someone to bring me the cure, or an antiemetic, whatever?

I rushed to the door and opened it only to find, not my miraculous cure, but Evans looking at me with a straight face for once.

The timing was probably awful, or just very telling, but my stomach chose to twist and contort at this precise moment.

"Ugh, I think I'm gonna throw up", I moaned.

Evans somehow took it badly (go figure) and rolled his eyes.

"What do you want?", I asked coldly.

"An explanation", he answered with the same tone.

Something in his attitude was definitely different, something was lacking: the friendly vibe, maybe?

He forced his way in and stood firmly in the middle of the room.

"That is such a violation of property!", I hollered.

"Easy there", he said with a shrug, "We're in a hotel room, here"

Did he have a point? I didn't give enough crap to argue over it.

"Say what you have to say quickly and let me agonize in peace". I closed the door and faced him.

He looked straight at me from a distance, weighing his words carefully -and should I precise?, slowly. Were we supposed to spend the morning on it? Cause I had better things to do, such as to puke, to name only one.

"Damn it, just spill it, already!" I exclaimed.

It worked like an electroshock on him.

"Who are you?", he asked frankly.

His question struck me like a thunder hitting a tree. I concealed my surprise as best as I could (but please, keep in mind I'm a terrible actress and totally hungover).

I pulled out my best snigger trick.

"I see someone is still drunk".

"Yeah", he answered then paused, "But I've been thinking about it all, and this sounds like the only plausible explanation of your behavior for the last few days".

"Because I'm not kissing your ass?", I exclaimed protestingly.

Evans took a step up towards me, obviously annoyed. "Because you don't know the names of the cast and the crew, because you behave differently and because your acting is crap".

I gawked at him. "Damn, that's harsh", I commented bitterly. Truthfully, the two-day-old actress in me felt stabbed. "But that's still doesn't prove shit", I rebounded. "What's your theory? If you've even got one, cause all your reasoning is pretty wobbly"

He covered his forehead with his hand and sighed deeply.

"We all laughed the first day of shooting because I kept confusing Scarlett and her double stunts". He chuckled lightly. "I don't know, maybe that's one of her pranks and she asked you to pretend to be her".

I stared at him numbly. "Whoa", I stated, "Except you're the old friend who should recognize me no matter what. How come none of the rest of the cast and crew share your doubts?"

"I don't know!", he exclaimed, "Maybe everyone is playing the game to mislead me! But you did tell me you arrived here three days ago"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Gosh, you are so self-centered, and a complete moron if you give credit to the ramblings of a drunk person..."

My unofficial psychological diagnosis put him off for a few seconds. Damn I was good! Hungover but still clever enough to shut him up without blinking. He looked away, thinking of a good defense I assume, but hit a brick wall instead.

He rubbed his chin then faced me again.

"Ok, then. Who's Jack?", he asked assertively.

"Wh-what? Who?". My babbling and the look of consternation that I didn't doubt was now plastered over my face were my deathblow.

Who knew alcohol was working on me like a truth serum? I put the whole critical on pause to lament over this brand new information. Shit, that was embarrassing. I had a sudden vision of horror. I didn't want to think of all the things I had blurted out or confessed to my relatives and colleagues during the numerous evenings of drinking I had had in my former life.

"I don't know any Jack", I protested, "I swear". I put one hand behind my back and crossed my fingers.

He stepped closer and stood over me in a way that my silhouette felt tiny face to his broad build.

I held up my gaze and tried to keep my cool whilst he looked down at me with such intensity he would soon drill a hole in my head. I could not believe he was using his body frame to intimidate me. And I could even less believe I was actually falling for it.

I gulped. I felt close to spilling my secret, and every other secret in my whole damn life. Now was a perfect moment to throw up and interrupt the conversation.

He smiled down at me. "You're her spitting image, though", he murmured amusingly. I let out a sigh. What a crappy morning. The only satisfaction I could get out of it was that he was about to have one, too. "Because I'm her", I retorted. I stepped back then walked to the center of the room. "But I'm not Scarlett", I finished.

Evans shot me a quizzical look. I was mad, mad that he was the one to figure it out, mad that I would have to share the most exhilarating secret of my life with him. He wanted the truth? Fair enough. But I was going to give him the raw version of it. Buckle up, buddy.

"Fine. I woke up here three days ago in Scarlett's body"

A long and tense silence followed. Evans squinted his eyes, clearly perplexed. "What do you mean in Scarlett's body?". I sighed noisily. "Ugh, do you want a detailed diagram?", I muttered, "It was a body swap!"

He leaned against the piece of furniture behind him and nodded understandingly. "Yeah, yeah", he conceded, a pout on his face, "They were saying just the other day on CNN how swapping bodies was becoming more and more of a common phenomenon."

I glared at him. "Keep your sarcasm for yourself. You wanted the truth, so here it is."

"Please", he smirked, "We have passed the age of doing such lame pranks".

Somehow, him not believing me piqued my ego. The urge to prove him wrong was way more acute and strong than the thought of using this joke as a way to end this compromising situation. I would prove him I was right at any cost. Yeah, that was dumb, but I never said I was smart.

"You have all the proof you need in front of you!", I growled.

What was the famous line every movie/TV show character who had swapped bodies with someone else would say to prove their real identity?

"Ok", I exclaimed, "ask me any question only Scarlett would have the answer to...". Evans looked at me somewhere between amusement and bewilderment, and I trailed off, caught up by reality. "...and I wouldn't be able to answer it anyway", I muttered bitterly.

"I don't know anything about Scarlett or about this movie. I found all the answers on the Internet"

He shook his head in dismay and headed towards the door.

"I see you still want to keep going with this ridiculous prank. At least, now I know you're Scarlett."

"But I'm not Scarlett!", I squealed.

Don't ask me how or when we had ended up turning the tables (perhaps because I was enjoying being the one who was right and knowing fully well he was the one who was wrong), but yet we had. I ran up after him and blocked the access to the door with my body.

"Damn it, Evans. You're worse than a woman! You ask relentlessly for the truth and once you get it, you call it a lie! Do you have periods and breast pain, too?"

He shot me a hard look.

"So you really expect me to believe this story?", he asked.

I nodded dramatically.

He folded his arms and stuck out his chest.

"Give me one good reason to do so?", he tried to corner me. I stood steady and erect. Believe it or not, it was easier not to sway when you were telling the truth.

"Because this story is so unbelievable it can only be true", I answered matter-of-factly, "Why would I come up with such a preposterous story? Obviously, it would sound like a lie. And yet, not only have I said it anyway but I stick up to it."

Evans kept silent, thinking of a counter-argument. I would have gladly added 'in your face' but I feared it might have discreditted my awesome little speech.

"That's bullshit", he sighed after a long pause, "and I can't believe you almost had me consider this possibility for a second there".

I heard my mental patience bell go off. I had given him way too much of my time for a Saturday morning and while feeling unwell. It was one thing to enjoy having the upper hand, it was another to argue over a truth endlessly.

"Too bad, so sad", I said cynically, "Anyway, you're a big boy. I told you my ugly truth, now do the maths".

I opened the door and ushered him outside. "You're gonna see how the fresh air of the corridor is going to help you think think this through"

If there was one good thing to get out of this messy situation, it was definitely this one: I didn't have to pretend to be his friend anymore.

"Oh and one thing", I added as I took hold of the knob. "Stop calling me Scarlett".

I swang the door shut like a boss before he had time to respond.

Darn, I loved my exits.

* * *

 

The following days were a real treat as I got to watch Evans go through the five stages of loss. It was a farce of which I had been graciously offered front row tickets for a private showing. And to be frank, I was a very receptive audience).

**Act I: Denial**

Evans came up to me while I was memorizing my lines. The sudden absence of warm sunshine over my skin pressured me to put my script down and face and aknowledge him.

"Scarlett", he started naturally, "remember that time we -"

"No, I don't", I cut him off with a cool voice while turning one page of the script. "And stop trying to brainwash me. You calling me Scarlett fifteen times a day won't convince me I'm her."

Why was I not grumbling or showing annoyance? Because I had learnt with time that what worked better than being irritated was to act like a cool bitch. Serenity in a tense situation was known for being the most damaging weapon and the best way to unsettle your opponent. So far, my tactic was doing wonders.

Evans shrugged with disinterest. "Fine, you want to keep playing that game of yours, be my guest. You'll grow tired at some point."

"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath", I showed him a forced grin and held my script up right before my face in a very subtle invitation for him to go away.

**Act II: Anger**

"How much longer am I gonna have to put up with this masquerade?", he said firmly as he sat on the bench across the table during lunch time.

"I dunno", I hummed while peeling my clementine in a teasing way (yeah, you can do that; you can drive someone over the edge just by peeling off a fruit; it's even tastier than the food itself), "How much longer are you going to pretend it's all a masquerade?"

"So what's the game, exactly?, he crossed his two massive logs (pronounced 'arms') over the table and leaned over, giving me a dirty look. "Because we both know your story is bull, right? So what's your plan? You want to get me to say I believe it and record me so you can laugh at me or blackmail me for the rest of my life?"

I cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "That's...very wicked. Look who's got a twisted mind".

"Is that a 'yes'?", he asked.

I smiled while he eyed me suspiciously. "It's a statement".

I held my hand up with the clementine to him and said: "You want some?". Just so we're clear, I had no intention  _ whatsoever  _ to share my clementine with Evans, but I was expecting him to take my offer for what it was, namely a provocation, and tell me to choke on it.

"Choke on it", he muttered and left the table.

He was making it  _ so  _ easy. 

**Act III: Bargaining**

"Fine, what do you want?", he came asking the next day right after the make-up artist had finished doing some retouch.

I turned to face him. "That's a very deep question, Evans"

"Cut the crap", he said drily, "What do you want?"

"Alright", I nodded, "Can you get me  _ before hair-loss  _ Jude Law waiting for me in a jacuzzi with his legs spread apart?"

Evans stopped midway as he was preparing his best annoyed face and furrowed his brows instead. "Why would he have his legs apart?", he asked.

"Cause 'waiting in a jacuzzi with his legs crossed' sorta kills the mood, don't you think?"

He rolled his eyes and walked away.

"By the way", he shouted all the way from where he was standing, "a guy waiting his legs spread apart kills the mood just as much!"

**Act IV: Depression**

Okay, I did not clearly see him curl up on a chair and cry, but he went through that phase where he looked at me from across the set, with puppy-dog eyes, like a sad panda...and numerous other animals that always seem to be down the gutter.

I guess that was his way of mourning.

**Act V: Acceptance**

I was serenely watching an episode of LAW: SUV in my hotel room in the evening when someone knocked on the door.

When I opened it, I found...guess who? number 1 international stalker Evans who walked in before I had invited him to.

"I told you, if you can't bring me Jude, screw you"

"What happened during the first week we were shooting  _ The Perfect Score _ ?", he asked straight away.

I generously displayed my 'WTF?' face to him. "What? Are you deaf? I told you I don't have answers to any of your questions".

"Look", he continued with a stern voice that suited his expression and ignoring my comment, "What happened that day?". It was late, I was tired; and a peek at the TV screen showed Elliott taking the unsub ito the police station (which meant I had missed all the arrest scene!) did not help lift my mood.

Fuck Evans and his five stages. Could he jump to the acceptance part, already?

"I don't know!", I hollered as I looked straight in his eye, "I swear on Jack!". When I had to get Jack involved, it meant shit just got real. Everybody hide.

His sharp look started to totter and changed into one of numbness and consternation. "Holy shit", he voiced out with difficulty. He turned away and laid a hand over his mouth as he seemed to process a thought.

Fucking hallelujah.

"You-you", he stuttered.

I cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "Welcome to my world"

"Holy shit", he repeated again, then rushed out of my room.

Yeah...

...

...

**Holy shit**

 


	7. Is It Cold Enough for You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's the new chapter. Hope you'll enjoy it.  
> And this time, I will wait longer before posting the next chapter. I really got to know your feedbacks.  
> Sounds like a nice deal: you leave a comment, I submit a new chapter.  
> The more reviews I'll get, the faster the next chapter will be posted. ;)

A new morning, a new disappointment.

It had become a ritual to start the day by keeping my eyes close and count up to three before opening my eyes and scanning the surroundings.

The scary part was that the beige walls of the hotel room started to feel more and more familiar. That feeling of surprise was slowly fading away and being replaced by one of habit. Would one morning come where I would forget to check if I was back home? Would one day come where I would call this place, - this life, my home? I doubted it, and this was the reason why I would keep counting up to three every single morning after waking up. Because this was not my home. Because I had every reason to want to go back and none to stay here.

This day was slightly different, though. I wasn't totally alone now that Evans had become a new member of the 'club' (well, more like he had snatched the membership form from me).

I was not sure how to feel about it, though. I was torn between the relief of not carrying such a big secret on my own anymore, and the annoyance of having to share this big secret with him. I hoped he was not expecting us to chat and braid hair together now just because.

Curiosity got the best of me.

I took a shower, got dressed (and put pale green socks on) and went out in the corridor. I knocked on his door and waited patiently...before knocking again ten seconds later.

"Who's there?", I heard him say. 

That was a trick question.

"Hmm...It's me slash not me!", I answered with a muffled chuckle. Was he in the mood to joke about all this, though? I heard his fast stepping halt suddenly and a deep silence followed. Then, after a short pause, he finally turned the knob. He partially opened the door and eyed me cautiously. Talk of a friendly attitude!

"Just came to check on you", I said.

My assertion made him furrow his brows. "Why?", he asked with a suspicious voice and look.

I shrugged. "I just needed confirmation that I am coping with this whole thing better than you are"

Evans slightly rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I was hoping this morning that yesterday night and the days before were just all a bad dream". He trailed off, processing his own words and cringed. "No offense", he added.

I folded my arms over my chest and shot him my best glare, "Too late. Offense taken"

I swung around and walked away.

* * *

I was livid after that, and ready to snap at anyone.

When I arrived to the set, most of the cast was here, including the assholiest of them all. I greeted all of them with an exacerbate enthusiasm and ignored him. Lindsay and I made our way to the trailer to proceed with our morning routine. I shot a glance behind and, as I suspected, saw Evans starting towards us. I sped up the pace (making Lindsay speed up the pace, too) and stepped inside the trailer. I then frantically reached for the handle, closed the door and locked it.

"Why did you lock us in?", Lindsay asked waringly.

I turned and grinned at her, thinking about a valid answer and sounding casual while saying it. "You know, just to have a little privacy".

I tried to keep my composure but it was too late; Lindsay had the face of someone who would someday see a psychologist for ten years to talk about that boss who traumatized them.

Lindsay remained civilized; she smiled (sort of) and got started. I peeked outside the window and saw Evans had given up and walked away with the rest of group.

* * *

The rest of the day went smoothly. Not to sound cocky, but I did an amazing job at avoiding the  _people_ who needed to be avoided, and at doing it conspicuously moreover. The first notable move being when I loudly dragged my Black Widow set chair far away from his.

"Really mature", Evans commented taking his eyes off his lines.

I protested with the best response I had within reach: I pulled my chair with even more noise.

Once I gauged we were physically far enough, I sat, folded my legs under me and took my script out. Needless to say I forbid my eyes to wander on my right side.

"Brrr", Mackie exclaimed as he approached and took a look at us, "It's fucking cold around here".

Evans responded with a silent shrug supposed to prove he was totally innocent.

"What can I do for you...?", I smiled. Although it was nice to see him, my grin was bigger than it would have normally been only to serve the purpose of pissing of Evans.

"His name's Mackie", he finished with what I could perceive to be amusement.

My head swung in an instant in his direction. "I know what his name is", I snapped coldly. Then my head returned to its initial position.

And, in case you were wondering, yes, I did remember his name at this moment.

"What can I do for you,  _Anthony_ ?", I purred the last word notably. I peeked on the sid: Evans was rolling his eyes while keeping his nose down in his script, trying to look natural.

Mackie reluctantly showed me his phone screen. "I tweeted it this morning", he grumbled.

I held the phone and read:

_After an enlightening experiment,_

_results have shown that you can't perspire alcohol_

_and that you should alway stfu when you're drunk_

Folllowed with:

_#hateuuuuuJohansson #Ihaddignitybeforeyoucameintomylife_

_#itssalty #Ishouldntevenknowthis #butnowIdobecauseofyou_

  
  


I let out a laugh of surprise. "Oh my God, you did it!"

"Well, a dare is a dare. The Falcon always honors his deals", Mackie answered with a shrug as he took the phone back. "Plus, I am exploding my record of retweets and favourites".

"That I can imagine!", I erupted , "I made you a star", I added, winking at him.

He arched an eyebrow. "Easy there, Satan. First, you make me humiliate myself publicly and now you're trying to get me to feel grateful to you for it?"

"Don't ask, it's a talent", I smiled.

Unable to hold on any longer, Evans, who was pretending to be busy learning his lines, then receiving texts, then answering the texts, then checking the time three times in fifteen seconds, let the curiosity get the best of him and jumped out of his seat to tag along. "Let me see", he said as he took the phone from Mackie's hand. He read the tweets and smirked. "Yeah, man. Look at it. Admire the boldness", Anthony started to boast.

"Too bad it took you almost five days to do it, though", I commented with a pout. "You know how in some cultures they take one week for a funeral?", Mackie started casually. I blinked a couple of times. "Well, I needed five to bury my dignity"

I laughed. Evans laughed. So I stopped laughing, to make a point. The point being that I was pissed. But I was fairly positive he didn't need subtitles. I had gotten my point across, like hours ago already.

"Everyone on set", Larry called out, like he did before we shot every new scene (I was really getting familiar with the names and faces, now)

I was doing well, very well, though the only thing that still remained out of my control was the acting. I had read all the script, and although the movie was not a tear-jerker, some intense scenes would still need to be filmed later on. I was dreading the moment.

Between shots, I would spend time with Mackie, Grillo or the Russo brothers, asking questions about my character I was growing to like a bit more each day. Natasha was cool, sassy, the archetype of girl empowerment, badass...Basically, she was me if I had decided to do martial arts .

At the end of the day, I went to my trailer and put on my regular clothes. Lindsay and I were chatting about how the men and women on razor and waxing TV commercials always had a clean and smooth skin before they had even gotten started when Evans stepped into the trailer.

He stood sheepishly by the door and greeted us. My back greeted him in return.

"Lindsay", he started, "do you mind leaving us a moment?"

My assistant answered with a silent nod and picked up her bag.  _My_ assistant. 

I gave him a long look of outrage. "No, Lindsay, you stay here", I said sternly, without breaking eye contact with Evans.

He shot her a friendly and pleading look. She stood there, mute and motionless.

How could I describe it? Lindsay was now in a turmoil of embarrassment, of awkward and indecision. We could see her mentally trying to dig a hole she could disappear in. Frankly, it sucked to be her at this precise moment.

We were staring at her feeling both determined to get her to comply to our respective plead, and deeply sorry for her to have to do so; a peculiar mix like "we're very sympathetic towards you, but suck it up" or "I genuinely wish I could help you out of this but hell I ain't the one who'll do it, bitch".

A pugnacious battle of stares and glares was now going in the trailer and from which Lindsay had withdrawn at the very beginning.

An  ~~ unwelcome  ~~ incoming call on her phone announced her retreat, and my defeat. Evans looked down at me triumphantly.

"May I...take this call?", Lindsay murmured.

I kept staring at him. "What call? I can't hear anything", I said with a shrug whilst Miley Cyrus hollering  _'I came in like a wrecking ball'_ resonated in the trailer.

You sure did, bitch. And it smashed me right in the face.

"Scarlett!", Evans groaned.

_'Left me crashing in a blazing fall, All you ever did was wreck me'_

"Fine", I muttered. Damn you, Miley Cyrus.

Lindsay let out a sigh of relief and Evans stepped aside to clear the access to the exit.

_'Yeah, you, you wreck me'_

"And change your ringtone!", I growled just when she passed the door.

Evans held back a laughter and put on a grave face.

"What?", I commanded.

"I spent all day trying to come up with a nice apology, but now I'm no longer sure", he said.

I gave him an unresponsive look.

Evans sighed. "OK, basically, the idea was I've been a total dick this morning".

"Finally something we can agree on", I commented with apathy, "Thanks for swinging by and sharing the confession".

"So that's it?", he asked.

I shrugged. "Why? Were you expecting tears and hugs? I don't do melo."

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry", he continued.

"And I heard you", I finished, "but too little, too late. You stepped way out of line and you were rude."

He laughed lightly. "You've got some nerve. You're the one who's been rude to me non-stop"

I finally looked at him. "But it's totally different", I protested.

He crossed his arms and smirked. "Yeah? How so?"

"No matter the things I said to you, no matter if I make you feel like you're unwanted, you still belong here. But I don't".

His smirk blurred away. "Just when I shared my secret with you, you reminded me how I am not supposed to be here", I said. I tried to think of a good comparison. I looked him up and down and found one immediately. "It's as if you were complaining because I would spend my days calling you boney and scrawny! Give me a break."

"It wasn't intentional, though", he justified, "I just said that without thinking. And I'm still processing the whole body swap thing"

I grabbed my sports bag and walked up to him as he was planted before the door.

"Like I said, I don't do tears, hugs nor psychological support. Now if you'll excuse me, my coach has planned to beat the shit out of me and I'd hate to make him wait"

* * *

My fighting skills had drastically improved, thanks for asking. My muscles did not hurt that much now.

"And we're good for today", Tony said at the end of the training, "You were full of energy tonight, what's your secret?"

I kept hopping up and down, "I followed your advice", I panted "and visualized someone"

My coach laughed as he knelt down to pack his bag.

"Tony", I asked, "would you teach me a new throw?"

He looked up at me with a smirk. "Depends. Are you gonna use it on that someone?"

I finally planted my two feet on the ground and ran a hand over my sweaty forehead. "If I answer no, would you teach me one?", I smiled deviously.

Tony shook his head and laughed.

* * *

I stepped out of the elevator and made my way down the corridor to my hotel room. I swiped my card fantasizing about the bubble bath I had asked to have prepared after a call made to the reception earlier on. Yeah, being famous had its perks.

I dropped my bag on the floor, took my shoes off and ran to the bathroom with a big smile on. I could hear the lavender from here. I pushed the door open and let out a gasp of horror.

"Christ on a bike!", I cried out, leaning back against the door, as I gawked at the sight of Evans lying in  _my_ bathtub, enjoying  _my_ bubble bath.

"Oh hi", he said casually before a taking a sip of  _my_ Champagne, "What took you so long?"

"What are you doing in my room?", I blinked in shock, watching him sprawl his legs over the edge of the tub.

"I could tell you it's actually Scarlett's room but we both know how you wouldn't take it very well and I would sound like a dick", he purrred as he leaned his head backwards on the little cushion.

I was at a loss for words. There was no word strong enough to express the turmoil of thoughts going in my head. I would need at least two bottles of bleach to scrub the trace of his fat naked ass off my tub.

"What do you want?", I glared.

"You know", he said suavely, "I've thought about what you said earlier and this whole situation, and you're right. You have every right to be rude to me, it's not like we're friends, after all, right?

He paused to make waves with a meticulous arm motion. He then carefully collected a handful of bubbles and blew them in my direction. Every motion, every word had been wellthought out for having the effect of a feather devilishly tickling my nerves. So far, his strategy was working marvellously.

"How did you get in?", I spat. He grinned from cheek to cheek, smug I had finally asked the question he was dying to give me the answer of. "Oh that", he purred contently, "I have my tricks"

He feigned a shiver. "Brr. Time to get out, the water is a bit chilly, now"

He got up abruptly and I did not flinch one bit, refusing to give him the pleasure of diverting my eyes. I knew what a naked man looked like -no matter how muscular and lean  _his_ body was, thank you very much.

"I am not impressed", I commented dully. It was now up to him to jump to conclusions or not. I was hoping he would jump with both feet.

He wrapped one of  _my_ towels around his waist and stepped out of the tub with a visible smirk on the face.

"You've been playing a game I didn't know the rules of, but now I do", he said.

He took the glass of Champagne and made his way to the exit.

"Game on"

 


	8. Shall We Play a Game?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter. I won't be posting for probably quite some time as I am flying today to spend Christmas with my family.  
> Merry Christmas to you, and Happy New Year!

"1...2...", I counted, lying down in my bed with my eyes closed, making an unofficial five-second-long break between each official second, "2 and a quarter....2 and a half...2 and three quarters...and...................3".

I opened my eyes and grumbled, not only because it meant I was still here, but because it confirmed Evans's last night little stunt actually happened.

I got prepared as usual, and the strange thing was, it was really becoming a routine now (oh yeah, and I wore white socks).

I met up with Lindsay, like I did every morning. She asked me what she could get me, like she did every morning. Then we made our way to the car like we did every morning.

"Scarlett", Lindsay started hesitantly, "I wanted to say I'm sorry if I put you in a uncomfortable situation yesterday".

I turned and looked at her with a genuine smile. "That's alright. I'm not mad at you".

More like at Miley Cyrus.

On our way across the set, we walked past Evans and I couldn't control the vivid urge to turn green (please appreciate the Marvel reference; I know it's lame but it's in my contract). I motioned at Lindsay to go ahead then burst into his trailer.

He cocked an eyebrow in response.

"I could have knocked first", I commented with a shrug, "but now that the walls in my bathroom smell like your asscrack, I felt like we have gone way past this civility".

Evans smirked and swang on his chair.

"What are you here for?", he asked.

I made a dramatic pause. "I'm here to offer you a chance...a chance to escape my backlash"

Evans huffed. "Please, don't do that", he whinged, "don't deprive me of the satisfaction I'll have when I beat you"

"I'm trying to warn you here", I muttered.

"No, you're speaking like a loser", he rectified.

I put my fists on each side of my hips. "Don't get me on that road..."

"...And I excel at this game", he finished, crossing his legs up on the table, "You won't make me back out...Unless you're just afraid you can't keep up"

My nostrils flared like an enraged bull, and he had just shaken the red cloth at me.

"What's your name?", he suddenly asked with much interest.

His question unsettled me for it was so unexpected. I had spent nearly a week hearing people calling me by a name my brain still could not entirely compute but that I felt somehow obligated to put up with; and yet, here was someone asking me to say out loud my real name , inviting me to embrace my old self again. A part of me felt pleased and grateful to him.

Obviously I buried it deep down the second after. We were having a feud, here, so excuse us.

"Why?", I asked warily.

He tilted his head slightly and looked at me with a gleam in his eye. He then smirked. "I always make a point of knowing the name of the person I'm going to beat".

Forget all the positive thoughts I had just had a moment before. This guy deserved to have the seven plagues of Egypt descend upon him.

"Screw you!"

A new rictus appeared on his face. "That's a pretty blunt and maybe a tiny bit belligerent name but I'm not here to judge your parents".

"Hilarious", I stated drily, "Can't you just punch me instead? It'll feel less excruciating than your so-called 'sarcasm'"

Evans half sighed, half scoffed. "Would you feel more reassured and give me your name if I said I need to know the name of the person who will humiliate me? Which won't happen!"

"Nah", I said enjoying holding some intangible advantage over him. Somebody stop me with this absurd obsession, already. I knew it was wrong, and pointless, and stupid, but I always did it anyway. And since nobody had come to stop me, I was going to do just that again.

"I'm adding a rule to this 'game'", I started, "I'll tell you my name if you manage to shut me up with one of your pranks".

Evans rolled his eyes. "That's just fighting a losing battle", he murmured.

I mused over that thought. "Yeah, right. You'll never get me to pipe down. Fine, I'll tell you my name if I see you're not too lousy at this."

"Is that your twisted way to say if I can set the bar high?"

I shrugged, "Whatever. To each their turn of phrase."

"Nope", he uttered after a pause, "I'm not accepting this clause, cause it's dishonest. You will never give me your name because it would mean admitting I'm actually good"

"Are you calling me dishonest?", I grouched. I pointed a threatening finger that did not unsettle him one bit. "I've been called many things in my life but never a liar. When I say something I stick to it. If one of your pranks take me aback, I will give you my fucking name without hesitation -hell, I'll even bring you Champagne and throw confetti, just to prove you that I had the guts to do it and shut you up", I paused and processed my little soliloquy, "Yeah, that's how twisted my brain is. Deal with it."

Evans did not conceal his satisfaction.

"Does that mean you're in?", he sounded me out with squinted eyes.

Hmm, let me see: here was given me the chance to finally take it all out on the guy without fearing any consequences on his perception of Scarlett, and plus I was getting a free pass for all the unimaginable tricks I would want to use?

"Hell yeah!", I exclaimed, fierceness taking possession of me.

"Okay, cool", he said nonchalantly, and turned away from me.

"May the nastiest win", I grunted as I walked towards the exit.

"Amen."

He had no idea what was coming his way.

 

* * *

Evans had no idea what was coming his way, but to be completely frank, neither did I. He had not lied, pranking was an art he mastered.

Our game quickly escalated following one simple rule: the more twisted, the better. First it started with the classics: replacing sugar with salt, hiding the cellulars (or the heavy ass dumbbells), locking the other up in the trailer before shooting a scene.

I could not tell when this innocent-not-so-innocent game tragically went downhill. No, actually, I know; it was when Evans decided to play it dirty.

We were on set, I was talking about my lines with Joe, when Evans, sitting on his chair, and listening with a sly smile, spoke up: "Maybe it would be easier for Scarlett if she played the scene alone. And in situation". I shot him a lethal glare. "You know, just to be sure all the lights and stuff are in the right place", he added with a grin.

Terrible, terrible idea. Without lingering on the fact I would not be up for an Oscar anytime soon, the idea of standing alone while the whole crew would watch made me even more nervous and decreased my acting skills which were already close to null.

"The whole crew could be watching and adjusting the material", Evans continued as if he read my mind.

"Fuck you", I mouthed at him, earning a smug and silent snicker in return.

"That's a good idea", Joe said with a nod, totally obviously of the fact he was being manipulated like a puppet. He called all the crew and asked to have the set cleared off just for me. Hurray...

"Maybe it would be better to wait. I'm not entirely familiar with my lines yet."

Joe stared at me with a straight face. "Scarlett, you don't have any line in this scene".

What could have been a very awkward silence was spoiled by Evans' loud laughter. I would have preferred the awkward silence.

"Call the key grip", Russo called as he walked away.

I turned to Evans who was now provocatively nibbling his sunglasses' temple tip.

"Oh shoot", he sighed, "Looks like I forgot the popcorn. And God knows I love my popcorn when I watch a comedy or...a drama"

I stepped forward.

"That was vile", I muttered, "and petty".

"And I had to do my morning jog in socks", he chimed in with a raised eyebrow.

Yeah, right. This happened.

"We're all set", Joe called out in my direction.

Evans kept grinning at me then put his shades on like a peacock would do if 1/they wore sunglasses, 2/had hands.

"Your move", he challenged me.

With a gloomy face and my tail between my legs, I walked my walk of shame up to the set then faced the crew. God, that was going to be awful.

Evans made himself comfortable to watch the disaster he had just put together.

After I finished, the crew sighed in relief, and Evans came up to me with an apparent sneer: "It was even more enjoyable than I had imagined. And trust me, I had put the bar pretty high". With that said, he walked away.

* * *

My revenge was as sour as biting into a lime.

The next day, we were all sitting after lunch when a delivery man, my delivery man, walked up to our group.

"Mr Evans?", he asked as he stood before him.

Evans nodded distractedly as he were, like the rest of us were, too busy staring at the package.

"This is your order. Blonde Amanda, size 6 from the 'Spicy night' collection. Can you sign here, please?", the man spoke plainly as he handed over the inflatable doll to a numb Evans. Oh my God, every word that had come out of the employee's mouth was gold. You did not have time to burst into laughter at the first one that the following was already hitting you in the face. Obviously, I had paid extra money to have the doll inflated already, or the effect would not have been quite the same.

The men from the cast roared into laughters as Evans, though he had a smirk on, could not conceal his flushing cheeks from my keen eyes.

"I never ordered that", he protested, earning even more laughter from the others.

I stood out my chair and suavely made my way to him.

"Oh well, that must be really awkward", I commented innocently, "Just witnessing the whole scene from all over there made me feel embarrassed. I don't want to imagine how _you_ feel."

Evans sighed.

"Fine, you're good", he conceded, "but it's not over, yet".

"Oh dear! I hope, it isn't!", I put my hand over my chest in a dramatic response, "I'm just getting started".

I looked the doll up and down and smirked. "I'm gonna leave you guys some privacy. Have fun tonight". He rolled his eyes and I winked at him. "Your move", I sneered.

Evans sat the doll in his lap and side-eyed it. "Come on!", he exclaimed from his seat "Couldn't you have picked a brunette, at least?"

"Stop being so shallow. I think she's really cute. She's a keeper."

And with that said, I walked away.

* * *

Many other pranks followed, the new one more nasty and creative and the one before.

One morning, I had the displeasure to discover, as I was getting dressed, that all Scarlett's socks in the drawer had been 'magically' replaced with a bunch of pink ones. And not various shades of pink, literally twenty pairs of hot pink socks.

Evans rocked his timing when the cell bleeped with a text that read:

_So you don't have to remind yourself to piss me off this morning_

Followed with:

_And because I know you've been secretly dying to wear them...You're welcome_

I looked down at the drawer and could not hold back the amused smile that rose on my lips.

Alright, he was good (and I was going to kick myself for a whole week for admitting it) but I was certainly not going to throw in the towel.

I thought about texting Lindsay and ask her to urgently buy me any pair of socks as long as they were not pink but I realized that would make Scarlett step the line which separated 'actress with an assistant' and 'diva with a slave'.

I joined my hands and shook my head. My self-righteousness would cause my downfall.

I nervously tapped my foot over the ground. I had to improvize.

When I made my way across the set an hour later, I stopped in front of Evans and greeted him.

He held his head up from his phone and looked at me expectantly.

"I'm starting a new fashion", I said, "do you like it?"

I struck my best Bar Rafaeli on the Elle front cover pose, in a way to glorify my feet.

Evans looked down and snorted.

"Seriously?", he cried, "You'd rather wear your bathroom cotton slippers than the pink socks?"

I shrugged, "Yeah well, life is tough. Welcome to the real world"

"If a pap was around, you'd make it to _TMZ_ or _ET_...", he paused, "actually to both".

"Well it was worth the risk", I commented, "Plus, you're the one who's jeopardizing Scarlett's public image, here"

Guilt was always the best strategy. Evans slammed it away, though.

"Wrong", he stated, "I gave you twenty pairs of socks to choose from. You're the one who decided to jeopardize Scarlett's public image".

He smugly smiled at me. "Obviously, said this way, I sound like the loony", I retorted with a pout.

Good thing Natasha's outfit was waiting for me in the trailer or otherwise I would really look ridiculous.

* * *

As you can imagine, all those daily pranks we were continuously dreading made us slightly....edgy?

When time came for us to work on our lines, for real this time, Evans asked me to come over to his trailer. Okaaay. I did not like it. I felt more vulnerable as I was the one going onto his territory. I did not protest though, even less share my worries, as it would have equaled showing signs of weakness. So I agreed to it with great enthusiasm.

When I got there, I opened the door from a safe distance. Who would be dumb enough to pass the door without making sure there was no trick waiting? So I stood on the side, stretched my arm out until my muscle started to ache and pushed the door open.

I found Evans waiting for me on his chair. He then pointed at the empty one opposite.

I walked up to it, started to sit down but then halted as I put some weight on the two armrests with my arms. The chair remained steady and seemed to be safe. Therefore I sat down.

"What shall we start with?", he asked naturally as he put some peanuts in his mouth. I squinted my eyes. Way too naturally. Where was the smirk? Where was the teasing tone? It was too calm, too quiet, even more than what a work environment should feel like.

"Let's start with the first dialogue. Page 6", I said.

Evans nodded as he flipped the pages. "You want a beer?", he asked as he swallowed a new peanut.

I squinted my eyes again. "Why?", I asked. Why was he being so nice? Why did he even want me to have a beer? It's not like I looked damn thirsty! And even if I did, why not suggest water? Why did he absolutely want to get me gulp something down? What was so special about that beer that it pushed him to ask me this so quickly? I internally nodded. Yep, there was definitely something fishy with this beer. I could feel it in my guts. "No", I added with the same suspicious tone as before.

"Are you sure?", he asked with a grin.

Red alert! Crisis! Ready to attack! My suspicion siren had just gone off.

Evans shrugged, put his pack of peanuts on the table and went over to the mini fridge. He came back, put his beer on the table and grabbed his pack to eat some more peanuts. His hand froze in motion as a pout appeared on his face.

"What's wrong?", I asked.

He looked back and forth at me and his peanuts.

"You know what?", he said casually after a pause, "I'm not hungry anymore".

He dropped the packet on the table.

"Yeah. So I thought", I began, "I could make Natasha very sassy and cynical"

"Natasha is already sassy and cynical", he replied matter-of-factly.

"Talk of a coincidence!", I beamed.

"Have you seen  _The Avengers_ ?", he asked, "It may help you grasp her character"

I put on my best outraged face. "Of course, I did!". Obviously this meant 'No, I didn't'.

"And did you watch the first Cap movie?"

I mentally browsed Scarlett's filmography. I didn't remember this one being on the list.

"Is Scarlett in it?", I asked suspiciously.

He shook his head no. "Then, no thanks I'll pass"

Evans huffed. "But how can you even understand this plot or Cap if you don't watch what happened before?"

I let out a silent sigh and rubbed my forehead (while keeping an eye on him in case he would have gotten the idea to do a prank at this exact moment). This was one of those dangerous conversations that made you lose precious minutes of your existence.

I said what every parent answer to their annoying child wailing over a toy or a candy: "Later".

We worked on our lines for very long minutes, which was a new breaking record for the longest yime he and I had ever spent together. I was pretty satisfied, Natasha was sassy at best, though Evans exercised his veto several times saying that Natasha and Steve were supposed to become friends at the end, not arch-enemies.

At some point, he jumped out of his chair to go to the toilet but then changed his mind, probably worried I would set up some pranks while he was away. So he decided to sit back down and hold his pee instead.

"We need to talk", he asked gravely after we finished.

I kept scribbling on my script. "What do you want to talk about?", I sighed.

"Hmm, let me think", he started as he feigned to ponder, "You swapped bodies with one of my closest friends and I have no news from her whatsoever. Damn! What is it that I could possibly want to talk about?"

I took my eyes off of my script and stared at him blankly. He looked back at me with a mix of confidence and hope.

"Fine", I said. That would make him hold on his pee even longer than if I had left right away. And I guess there was no harm in him asking questions about Scarlett.

"How is she?", he asked.

Oh my God! I noisily dropped my script on the table.

"Did you only listen to my story?", I complained, "I don't know! I woke up here one morning and that's about it"

"Right, right", he conceded as a peace offering, holding his hands up in front of him, "Sorry".

He paused and thought carefully about his next question.

"How can you explain you two swapped bodies? I mean, did you know each other or something?"

"No"

"So you had never even met her before?"

"No"

A little satisfied smile slipped out. Apparently, he was content he had gotten that far with me in the conversation.

"So how come?", he asked.

"I don't know"

"So you can't explain it?"

Did he really plan on asking me the same question twice? Cause this would surely take a lot of time.

"No"

He paused.

"Did it hurt?", he finally asked with a cringe.

"No. I just felt dizzy when I woke up."

He nodded in silence and his muscles released off their tension.

"Did you have any reason to want to be here? Are you sure you didn't do or...wish anything that could have gotten you here?"

"Wait a minute...", I trailed off as I took the posture of someone having an epiphany. His eyes opened wide at me. "The night before, I did chant to the moon to be united with you while holding a chicken leg tight in one hand. I guess this could be it."

Evans went from being full of hope to getting very disappointed.

Okay, now I was bothered. Why would I be the one who wished this? Maybe Scarlett was the one who hoped she could be living in a town of Michigan far from the spotlights, the fans and from any trace of modern civilization really, with the only company of a dog. Was it that hard to comprehend?...

...Yeah, let's not lie, it was. This definitely couldn't be her wish.

"That's not what I meant", he protested, "Besides, I know you certainly didn't come here for me".

I lifted my thumb up in response. I was glad my student had learned the lesson by heart.

"Is there a way we can contact her?", he asked.

I looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?", I asked, completely clueless.

He moved to the edge of his chair, taken by a sudden enthusiasm.

"We can call her!...well call you, and get her to come here. What is your phone number?"

I paused longly and processed his words which, for a strange reason, sounded like Latin to me.

"I...", I started sheepishly, "I don't know it"

He did not even try to soften his bewildered look.

"You don't know your phone number?", he scoffed.

I took his remark as an attack. It revived me and made me forget about my shameful confession.

"Why would I know it? Only conceited, narcissistic assholes learn their phone numbers by heart".

"Yeah, yeah", he sighed, "and those are called normal people."

He paused. "So are you seriously telling me you don't know your own phone number?"

I couldn't understand why he was reacting like I had just confessed I believed the Earth was flat as a plate.

"Well, in my defense, I never call myself!", I exclaimed with as much outrage as possible to cound convincing,.

Evans sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "Worst excuse ever", he muttered.

"I heard that!", I exclaimed.

"Good!", he spat firmly.

I left the trailer in a hurry and heard him shout from there, "Worst excuse ever!".

He then spent the rest of the evening flooding my phone with this same sentence over and over again.

* * *

I did not sleep that night. I couldn't stop thinking about the turn our conversation had taken and the revelation it was slowly unfurling. I was confused, but mostly in shock. Scandalized, but somehow numb about it, like a patient who would have been put on morphine and only saw a hazy, mute and peaceful version of the blatant truth. But I was starting to see clear, now.

The next morning, I banged at Evans's door and nervously paced.

When he found me waiting, he sighed.

"What do you want?", he said, "Clearly, you don't want to talk about things that matter and you certainly don't want Scarlett back".

His statement was 50% right. I didn't want to talk about this thing happening to me because it was a situation I had no control over. And not being in control meant being weak. Implied being vulnerable. In this new life, I got no bearings, nothing to hold on to; I was staggering but trying my best to remain standing and move forward. If being sassy and rude was my way not to fall, then so be it. As long as it gave me a semblance of strength and control in this mayhem.

He started to close the door but I blocked it with my hand. "Wait", I started with a low voice. Then the revelation completely revealed itself to me. I held my head up and looked at him.

My throat went dry, my muscles tensed, my heart squeezed as the words slipped out of my mouth.

"I am forgetting my former life"

  
  


  
  


 


	9. Lots of maybes

"What?", Evans whispered numbly while I walked into his room without waiting for an invitation because, as we all know: discovering you're slowly forgetting about your life = instantaneous and permanent authorization to step into any room.

"What are you forgetting?", he asked as he closed the door and faced me.

"Everything", I exclaimed, "Well, I think...I remember my family and all the friends I've made throughout my life but there are other things...there's just nothing. Only a blank."

He gulped loudly and let himself fall on the armrest of the sofa.

"What kind of things, exactly?"

I paused and thought. So far, only one type of memories.

"Anything that could take me back home", I admitted, "My address. My town. I know what my flat looks like, I know it has a light green front door –that’s a thing I can’t forget since I painted it myself and that annoying fogy from the upper floor made my life a living hell for six months and even complained to the neighbourhood committee saying it disturbed her. She lives on the fucking _upper_ floor. Hellooo”. 

Evans subtly put an end to my rambling by clearing his throat loudly enough for me to conclude it was not just random.

“Right”, I said, “Anyway, I remember all those details but when I try to think of the number and the name of the street, it's like bumping into a wall."

And it was the same with the town. I could recall how small it was, I could still remember the postman with the perv smile, the bakery that came straight from Hell because it made you want to sell you soul to the devil to have just one more bite of their pastries. I remembered all those things and even tinier ones but I was incapable of saying the name that read on the town border sign. How could I possibly forget it? As boring and insignificant as it was, it still didn't justify how its name could have been wiped off my memory. It was my  _hometown_ . And how could I forget about my own  home ? I felt clueless, numb and mostly scandalized.

"Oh my God", I said. I was now pacing in front of the sofa. Then the reality struck me one more time. "Oh my Goood!” I repeated furiously, "Do you realize that I've spent two entire weeks here and never thought about calling home not even once? I don't know what kind of witchcraft this is but now this is getting freaky."

Evans finally emerged from his catatonia.

"Wait a minute", he started as he seemed to be mentally solving out a mystery. "You think the situation is getting freaky just now?". He then nodded as in processing this new piece of information.

I returned to my previous state of outrage. I had been away from my home, out of my own body, lost and clueless, and yet the idea of returning had never crossed my mind. I was moaning about retrieving my old life back and not once had I really tried to return home. And I dared to declare I missed Jack dearly. What a first-class asshole!

"Can you contact anyone you know? Your parents or even neighbours?", Evans inquired.

I halted and tried to think of someone who lived near my place. Bettany, who lived right across my door. Blond hair, full lips, pointy noise, big boobs, tattoo on her inner wrist. Bethany...Johnson? Peters? Wirth?

Argh, I had better chances to win the national lottery! This was a guessing game I could only lose. Not only could I not remember her surname, but none of the names that I was mentally reciting triggered any reaction from me. None of them sounded right; none of them sounded wrong. They were all hollow words. I could not even remember the name of that old bag (and this was probably the only silver lining to be listed).

"I can't remember any name", I admitted.

"How come?", he asked with a voice that was slightly sharper now.

Did I look like someone who had been given a copy of  _Body Swap: the Complete Guideline for Dummi_ _es_ ' before waking up here?

"I don't know. Maybe to make sure I never go back. Ma y be just to torture me. Maybe because Scarlett and I can't meet or the the world will implode."

He folded his arms over his chest.

"That makes a lot of maybes", he commented dryly.

His remark stung me, evidently. "Well may- perhaps, you didn't grasp the main idea!"

"Oh no, I got it alright"

I eyed him suspiciously. His look, his posture, the way he had pursed his lips. The guy was visibly trying to deliver a message. A message, I was sure, I would not like.

"What are you implying precisely, then?", I snapped with a challenging tone.

Evans shrugged and stood up.

"Fine. Precisely? I call it bullshit", he responded with the same tone.

I pouted slightly. Well, this was ... precise. And frank.

"Bullshit?", I repeated with a genuine naivety.

"Yeah, I don't buy this sudden twist of event", he muttered the last three words, "how convenient".

"Convenient?", I blinked incredulously. I probably looked very dumb during this conversation but I earnestly had no idea what he was trying to make me spill. I felt disoriented, powerless and doomed in a level he could not imagine.

He was taken by a sudden verve which, it was most likely, betrayed him having a bone to pick with me.

"You show up here with your never-ending bad mood, refuse to connect with anyone unless it means throwing shit at them, or even give your name; then when I finally mention Scarlett and get you to tell me more about the whole story you come up -shall I mention after a good night sleep to think it all through- with this excuse which is as fanciful as it is convenient. Yes _, con-ve-nient_ ”, he added after noticing the pout on my face. So yeah, I might be having my doubts."

I gawked at him, totally stunned. Forget the bone, I was dealing with a whole mammoth skeleton, here. Was I bothered to pick it, though?

"Look who's making us a scene", I rolled my eyes nonchalantly. The answer was no.

Oh and if I were to hear 'convenient' one more time, I would scream.

"Booya", he responded without showing any sign of contempt or anything else. Well , maturity and good sense had been quickly tossed aside.

"And let me give you a piece of my mind on all this", he spoke again.

"Oh, another one?", I said lifelessly.

Apparently, this had the knack to annoy him.

"Yeah! Another one", he groaned, "No matter the extent of truth in what you said, I am positive you find this whole situation..."

My eyes widened up dangerously as I watched his mouth ready to voice out the word again.

"You better not say it!", I warned.

I saw a sparkle in his eye, not only was he going to say it, but he was going to enjoy doing so. I caught a glimpse of the cushion on the sofa but I mentally worked out I would not grab it and shove it down his throat in time.

So I covered my ears and closed my eyes (to be safe). The bomb was about to be dropped.

"...coonveeenient". He declaimed it wi t h such an unadulterated, uncensored bliss, I wouldn't be surprised it came with an orgasm, too.

I grunted, letting all my frustration out. "Argh! At least buy yourself a Thesaurus for the love of God!"

I could have fled to the door and left this chaos behind me but my legs were paralyzed and my brain fried, anyway. I blame it on the fourth 'convenient'.

I buried my face into my hands.

"Oh my God", I growled in frustration, "I can't believe I shared my secret with you!"

"You didn't share anything", he growled back as he stepped forward, "I figured it out on my own!"

"...Yeah. After my dumb drunk self -then my dumber sober self, spilled it all out! Congratulations for being gifted with hearing!"

His jaw contracted for a couple of seconds.

"Of all people on Earth Scarlett could have swapped bodies with, it had to be with you! You're making the whole experience even more traumatic", he snickered, "I can't wait for her to be back!"

"I can't wait to be gone!", I hollered. I took one more step, and we were now so close we could hear each other's heavy breathing.

"Wrong or you would have tried...hmm, let me see", he paused as he feigned a look at his watch, "two damn weeks ago".

I wanted to scream all my frustration out. How unfair! How calumnious! I wanted to knock some sense into him for uttering such false allegations.

"Forget what I said. You are deaf!", I cried. "You just failed your most basic human perception. Bravo", I added sarcastically as I started clapping.

He looked back and forth between my hands and my straight face, trying to figure out which annoyed him more.

"Stop clapping", he eventually spat. We had a winner.

I clapped even faster, adding an addictive rhythm pattern to it.

_Clap, clap, clap. Clap, clap, clap._

"We live in America, the country of freedom. Constitution says I can clap. You, more than anyone should understand it,  _Captain_ ." 

"You are, by far, the craz-", his head jerked away as I started to clap closer to his face.

_Clap, clap, clap. Clap, clap, clap._

"You are a shame to the Constitution", he muttered, trying to wave my hands off.

"It's your God-awful check boxers that are a shame to the Constitution"

Evans shot me a killer glare. The earnest one in the two weeks I had been here for. So the boxers were his Achilles' heel? And this was exactly why I always thought it was wrong to be sentimental.

That deserved some more clapping celebration, going right and left around his face.

_Clap, clap, clap. Clap, clap, clap._

"Fine", he muttered before handcuffing my wrists with his hands and keeping them at a safe distance apart. The room went awfully quiet.

So I played the beat again. With my feet.

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._

He looked down at my dance tapping feet then shot me a look of consternation, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I smirked in response.

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap-_

Evans bent down and swiftly picked me up the floor onto his shoulder, this time, keeping my feet at a safe distance from the floor, while holding my two hands down on each side of his waist.

He was certainly grinning with satisfaction, though technically, all I could see at this exact moment was his ass.

Sitrep: I was fucked. And not in the pleasant meaning of the word.

Thank God I had many talents under my belt.

_Cluck,_ _c_ _luck,_ _c_ _luck. Cluck,_ _c_ _luck,_ _cluck_ . 

I was now loudly clucking my tongue. I felt his head tilt in my direction.

"Jesus. You're so immature!", he muttered.

"Look in the mirror, bitch", I said from down there.

And I resumed clucking my tongue.

Evans tried that desperate attempt to reach for my mouth with his hands  stretching out behind while his elbows were strongly blocking my hands from reuniting happily ever after. It had the only effect to make him spin on the spot. Endlessly.

_Cluck,_ _c_ _luck,_ _c_ _luck. Cluck,_ _c_ _luck,_ _c_ _luck._

The whole scene was...yeah, pathetic. We were both so caught up in our own personal rage, there was no room for good sense. In this moment of great chaos and humiliation, a peaceful thought emerged: the relief of discovering I wasn't the only loony this planet was carrying. It didn't stop me from clucking my tongue again, though!

This was when Zach, his assistant, came knocking on the door to rescue the little bit of dignity we had left (don't get high expectations, there wasn't much left to save). We both froze in horror. And panic. And shame. Well, more like, he froze and I stopped spinning, too.

"Can I come in?", Zach asked from outside.

"NO!", we both  yelled .

Evans released my hands and put me back on my feet as I silently combed my hair with my fingers. Somehow, we had switched from archenemies to comparses in the sole and egotistical purpose of not being dishonored. And you wonder why pride is a dangerous feeling?

Zach opened the door and stepped in to find us standing in front of each other, straightening up our rumpled clothes while looking away with guilty eyes.

"Am I interrupting something?", he asked with a false shyness concealing a hint of curiosity.

Evans put his hands on each side of his waist, turned his head in his direction and exhaled noisily as an answer.

"Zach, can you give us a minute, please?", he asked.

His friend nodded and stepped outside. Evans turned his attention back to me.

"I think you don't want to go home", he said with a lower voice but as he were a wise Tibetan delivering his conclusion.

I pointed my finger at him. "You are calling me a liar...again. I'm telling the truth."

"And I don't know you", he finished abruptly while looking me deep in the eye. "Why should I believe you?"

We stayed quiet like this just a couple of seconds, but still long enough for me to feel the weight of my solitude.

"You believed me when I told you about that surreal body swap", I murmured weakly, holding up my gaze, "Why would it be so far-fetched to believe this now?"

He looked into my eyes even more intently and I could see his pupils searching for some degree of truth into mine. "Maybe your brain is blocking all the valuable information, because maybe, unconsciously, you don't really want to go home."

I swallowed his words like you would swallow a bad coffee: they were sour, distasteful, cringe worthy, and yet, I took them all.

"That makes a lot maybes", I murmured.

Madness faded leaving room for the frustration from before, and I made my way towards the door, in silence.

I swung the door open and let Zach in. I shot a look at Evans then back at him .

"It looks like we were having sex", I grumbled, "But it was actually worse than that".

Then I headed out.

 

My mind was overloaded. Polluted with questions and concerns: wondering how come I had not thought about returning home and if I ever could. I wondered if Scarlett was in the same situation. Was she trying her hardest to come back or was she, just like I was before Evans pointed it out, in the blur. Did she remember her last name? Was she smarter than me and could actually remember the name of the town we were shooting in? Would she eventually show up at the door? Did she miss her life, too?

The scariest thought that kept awake though, as I stared into space late in my bed was whether I would keep forgetting more and more details until there would be nothing left to remember Did it mean this body swap was permanent? Would Scarlett's memories be progressively pasted over my very own? 

So I tried anyway. I spent hours forcing my brain to remember my last name, gazing at the dark ceiling and trying to drill a hole into that brick wall that held my memories prisoners.

Eventually, weariness and sleep would defeat me. And, in a way, these hours of surrender brought relief and peace.

 

There was, no surprise here, a highly-charged tension between Evans and me. I was mad at him for doubting my words, he was mad at me for...whatever. Maybe for not being the Scarlett he knew. On set, and anywhere else, we were ignoring each other, talking only when our personal obligations fell to us. We would read our lines, then as soon, as we had finished, one or the other would get up and leave.

No need to precise our prank game was dead and buried. It felt a bit strange, surprisingly. For a short second, when I was walking in my trailer or opening my bag and did not find anything silly in it, for a short second, I felt disappointed. Hell, even reading my book of the week without silly annotations and comments added on the side  of the pages  became sort of boring. 

Perhaps, I was missing being annoyed (and that said a lot about my mental state).

 

"Would you say I have a never-ending bad mood?", I once asked Anthony who was playing with his Falcon sunglasses. First thing they teach you in law school to win a trial: weaken the prosecution's case. I watched enough  _Law & Order _ episodes to know that. 

I wanted to ask Lindsay, but I feared my assistant's reply would lack impartiality. Yeah, I know: crazy thought, right?

He frowned at me. "What? Pff. You're the coolest girl in town", he exclaimed while putting his sunglasses back on.

I smiled at it with unsubtle contentment. No more questions, your Honour.

Then he turned and looked at me gravely.

"Doesn't mean I've stopped hating you for making me post that tweet though", he added.

I grinned and snatched his sunglasses off then put them on.

"They look better on me", I said then laid my head down on the back of my chair.

 

Honestly, I couldn't be better: sure it sucked to be friends with people who did not who I was, but at least, I had company. Mister Chris Evans wasn't my rock, nor my anchor .

 

 

 

 


	10. A Wild Trek through the Town

"OK, that was a very good joke", I cried, "now, if it could end it would be even funnier".

I was lying in my bed, my eyes closed. "So I'm gonna count up to three, and when I open my eyes, I will be at home."

I took a deep breath in, "1...", I said with determination and enthusiasm, "...2...aaaaand", I continued with a more daring tone, in a bold attempt to intimidate the universe or whatever that was. I lost faith before I even reached the end of the countdown. What was the point?

"...and fucking 3", I muttered as I cheated and opened my eyes before actually saying '3' but who cares, I was clearly the only one playing the game. I rolled my eyes in silence as I took a look at the around the hotel room.

Looked like the universe liked everlasting, bad jokes. "Ha ha ha", I muttered sarcastically (and sort of furiously) while looking up at the ceiling. And this was my insolent protest of the day against the universe.

I grabbed my notepad:

_ Point number 13  _ _: I worry for my sanity. I think I am_ _ losing  _ _it, big time._

_I had a weird dream last night. Well, a 'weirder' dream than usual._

_I am on set. I have my former face but there's a giant post-it that is covering all of my face; so big I can't read what it says on it. But the rest of the crew can, and I see them sneering at me while reading it. I'm holding a leash and Jack is at my feet, wearing a Captain America uniform, but he doesn't have the shield, and I'm scandalized about it. Anyway, Anthony and Joe Russo are behind the camera, next to each other as always, but this time literally glued at the hip, like conjoined siblings, but somehow they are, just like the rest of us, totally okay with it. Then they both exclaim 'action' and I just stand there petrified, before crying out: "I lied! I never did jujitsu!"_

I paused and nervously bit my lip. Then I wrote down

_ Point number 14 _ _: What was written on that big ass post-it note?_

 

Today was a big day though, and it was not a silly, meaningless dream that would keep me from enjoying it. Today was a 'free day'. A bit like a day off, but cooler. No shooting evidently, but also no rehearsing, no training, no clothes fitting, no agent meeting; just a F.R.E.E. day. I had always thought actors were basically lazy people who would supposedly 'work' 3-5 months then sunbathe on a Hawaii beach for the rest of the year, but it turned out those 3-5 months were pretty intense. Would I say they should snatch the medal of the worst job ever from the little Asian manufactory workers? Don't wait for an answer, it was totally rhetorical.

So to celebrate this day of nothingness, it seemed pretty logical that I would go on a wild adventure to see all the beauty America had to offer. Well, roam the streets of Long Beach, CA.

This didn't sound particularly intrepid and bold, but to a girl like me who had never gone farther the border of her town in Michigan, trust me, this day trip felt like going on a hike through Amazonia.

After breakfast, I put black jeans and a white low-cut top just because my new pair of boobs allowed this hazardous cleavage. Definitely not slutty, but certainly not holy.

I got a call from reception telling me my rental car was ready. I grabbed Scarlett's handbag and run down the corridors.

I saw Mackie coming out of the elevator, probably on his way to Evans's room.

"Hold the door!", I exclaimed as I sprinted. Mackie halted and stretched his arm behind to keep the doors from closing, while side-eyeing me with curiosity.

I slowed down and stepped inside the elevator, catching my breath.

"Going downtown!", I erupted to justify the rush. By the look on his face, it still didn't explain shit, "Do you want me to bring you something?", I offered.

He smirked, "So FOX news finally got something right. You really are the first woman ever to go on a trek to...", he paused and took on a grave and dramatic voice, "Long Beach, California".

I rolled my eyes.

"If you want a piece of advice before you get started", he added, "Water. Always have some water with you. It's your strongest ally."

"Get lost", I said as I pressed the lower floor button. Anthony chuckled then dramatically stood by the frame and held the doors open with outstretched arms.

"Don't do it, Scarlett", he feigned with a panting voice, "You have nothing to prove to the world. Or to Fox News."

"You're just jealous", I commented as he released the doors and laughed at his little act.

"Yeah, that must be it", he smiled.

I pressed the button again and the doors started to close.

"Oh and to answer your question, I want a chocolate chip cookie."

"Why don't you go ask Fox News? I heard they just got a delivery"

The lift doors closed on our two triumphant and amused smirks.

* * *

After parking the car at the meter, my sightseeing started. The vibe, the weather, the smell of the salty wind coming from the seaside and even the Californian accent felt foreign to me. Everything here reminded me of how different it was from my hometown, and even from my state. The sun shone brighter, the air had a warmer touch on my skin, and the expectation of discovering a street I had never seen before round every corner made the journey even more exciting.

My planning for the day was organized and settled as a military plan of attack. Sightseeing, shopping, then last but certainly not least, a walk along the beach. Sorry for the cliché, but yeah I had never been to one.

But first things first, I had to start the day with a great sin, a hideous felony: steal money at the bank. I carefully spotted the bank I needed and made my way in. I walked up to the reception my stomach twisting in anguish my soul could never be salvaged after this and fluttering at the excitement of the crime to be committed.

The man at the reception lifted his head out of his papers and faintly froze at my sight. "May I help you?", he asked. I took a deep breath in and recited the lines I had prepared the night before. "Yes. I have lost my credit card PIN and can't access my account."

THE SIN WAS OFFICIALLY  _IN MOTION_ !! 

The man nodded, took the phone and pressed a button.

"Someone will receive you shortly", he said.

I nodded, and damn, 'shortly' took an all new meaning. I barely had time to thank the receptionist that the director himself was already inviting me to follow him in his office.

Once inside, he politely waved to the seat and waited till my ass was comfortably seated in the chair to sit in his own.

"How can I help you?"

I could have taken the repetition of the same question as a sign to back up and not commit the crime, but I was too desperate for money to start having remorse.

"I can't remember my PIN", I said wih a candid face.

"May I ask for your card and an I.D?"

I nodded, opened the bag, and took the said cards out of Scarlett's wallet. I sighed internally; could we stop with the 'Scarlett's thing' hypocrisy, already? I was about to withdraw her money from her bank account and use it as if it were mine, I think I can officially call this freaking purse and what's inside  _mine_ . 

He took them and barely glanced.

"Miss Johansson", he said with a smile. Good, he had finally told out loud the unsaid.

"The policy wants us to make a request and have a letter with the PIN number sent to the address you have given when you opened your account", the banker said then pursed his lips, "But I'm afraid it will take a few days".

Uh oh.

I shook my head with calm and composure. "The thing is, I am shooting a movie at the moment and won't be at home until several weeks", I explained. He pretended to process a piece of information he already acknowledged. One point for me. Now, all I needed to do was to add some pressure. "And I can't afford to spend any more days without money".

He nodded understandingly. "Of course, miss Johansson. I can call our center and have the PIN sent to you in a few minutes at the mail address you have provided."

I let out a sigh of relief and officially bid farewell to my morals.

"Yes, please. I would really appreciate it"

He sealed the deal with a smile and made the call. Yes, it was wrong, but I didn't have a choice. I had no idea how long I would be staying here for but now that I spent the little cash I had found in the wallet, I couldn't keep on leaning on my co-stars to kick the bill every time we were at bars and restaurants. Feminism wouldn't want me to keep doing it. Even Scarlett wouldn't want me to keep doing it.

As far as I was concerned, I wouldn't hold a grudge against her for resorting to that solution as well. I certainly did not want her to die of starvation because her ethics would not approve of her using a stranger's money. Certainly, our savings were not playing in the same league (mine were close to  _nada_ ), but it wasn't like I had planned to buy a house in Hollywood with her money.

I left the bank, holding Scarlett's credit details in my hand, and the guilt close to my heart.

* * *

  
A bizarre phenomenon deviously settled in; the guilt which was yelling at me in my head slowly softened when I started my shopping and soon became a bearable whisper. So weird! (sarcasm alert)

As much as I liked Scarlett's wardrobe, it was sometimes a bit too chic for me. Plus, wearing her clothes somehow felt wrong and unsuitable (pun intended, by the way). With the mass of things I had no control over or not a real possession of, I needed to have one thing I would have chosen, something that I could call mine. And this one thing would be the clothing.

They say clothes are the expression of your inner self, and I was in urgent need to prove to myself -and to the others, that somewhere deep down in this body, curled up and diminished, I still existed.

Buying the first item felt indecent but mostly liberating. To put it simply, I felt like a bad person, but a bad person in good health. I had a bad conscience but I was free-spirited.

When the shop assistant said the price, I opened the bag and reached for Scarlett's wallet...damn it! and here I was doing it, again!

My head flipped around and I caught a glimpse of a nice wallet on sale. I grabbed it, put it on the counter and pointed at the leather handbag displayed at the front window.

"I'll take the bag, too", I said. I paid with the card, clutched the counter and nearly had a little heart attack while waiting for the payment to be accepted before I finally got to sigh in relief when it was approved.

I immediately proceeded to the change of bag and wallet. Finally, I would be able to call them 'mine'. Sure, it was not really valid but it did the trick on a psychological level.

And so I proudly held  _my_ wallet and  _my_ handbag and put Scarlett's ones into the shopping bag.

The shop assistant smiled at me, waited for me to be all sorted then she said sheepishly:

"Can I...have a picture with you?"

Her question took me by surprise. I had noticed the second glances, the stares as I walked up the street, but it was the first time I was approached. The cast had not lied when they had said that the security at Marvel was so high that no fan could get close enough to lurke.

I had spent many weeks living the life of Scarlett and had not realized, until that precise moment, how famous she actually was. It was one thing to know it, it was another to live the experience.

"I...", I babbled, "of course".

The young woman's face lit up with joy and she quickly walked around the counter to stand next to me. She took the phone out of her pocket and held it up in front of us.

I smiled, though I suspected it would look like an awkward smirk and the picture was taken.

"Thank you so much", she said.

I blinked a few times. It was fast, effective and...pleasant.

"Thank you", I said earnestly then shyly walked out of the store.

 

The shop assistant's request had apparently opened the door for even more fan encounters. It was like the word had spread around that I could be approached. From my way to this store to another some yards away, I got accosted three times: two hyperactive teenage girls, a charming couple and a man, borderline charmer.

I greeted them every time with a growing enthusiasm. And then, as the couple left saying they were big fans, it hit me.

Scarlett was the shit.

I had spent many years of my life trying to get one of my stories published, to be known from the public and even hear about how they admired my writing but I had never gotten any of this, and there I had jumped into a big star's body and finally tasted fame.

So following the theory of relativity.

 

**Scarlett is the shit - > I am Scarlett -> ** **I** _ **am** _ **the shit**

 

Bingo.

Perhaps this was fate, perhaps this was the universe rewarding me and ensuring that my destiny got accomplished. Every new encounter, every new person greeting me with admiration reinforced the equation and my theory. And there was something incredibly thrilling into accepting this new reality. I could feel, growing warmly, my confidence and my self-esteem.

I was smiling at life, and life was smiling at me. I felt good, I felt glorious, but most importantly, I felt like I deserved it.

As I walked up and down the alleys of a bookstore, a girl came up to me and politely asked if we could have a picture. I beamed at her in response. She held the phone up then as I prepared my best I-am-the-shit-but-I-don't-boast-about-it smile, I cringed a bit as I noticed the girl had put on her best duck face.

Instinct took over reason: I did what I always did when I caught Stacy posing for a selfie in our building's staircase or lift, I put my hand on each side of her face and squeezed it in a way to get a fish face. If she wanted ridiculous, I could give her ridiculous. The girl looked at me in surprise from the corner of her eye but took the picture anyway.

I then let go of her face and started to think of a valid apology for I knew she did not enjoy like Stacy was always grumbling over it, but the girl looked at the picture and laughed.

"That's the coolest fan pic ever!", she erupted with a bounce, "Everyone is gonna love it!".

I looked at her in amazement. No, that was not a cool picture, she should have hated it, but just because Scarlett Johansson had done it, it became somehow awesome. Again: I. was. the. shit.

 

By the time I had stepped out of the bookstore, my power of coolitude was indisputable and knew no limits. The thrill of feeling unique, desired by men, envied by women, admired by all wiped away entirely any feeling of loneliness. For the first time since the beginning, I was enjoying my new life.

I stopped at a coffee shop and sat at the terrace just because. Fine, if you want a motive, probably because I needed to quench my thirst of recognition and to sip the nectar of prestige. Satisfied? Yeah well, certainly not as satisfied as was at this exact moment.

My table close to the pavement, my posture, my smile; every thing was a calculated and subtle invitation to approach me. People stopped by, greeted me, asked for an autographed, called themselves fans, asked how the shooting of _Captain America 2_ was going.

"I'm such a big fan", a brunette told me after taking a picture.

"Aww thank you", I said mechanically.

"Can I hug you?", she asked with a grin.

I smiled and complied immediately. Her face flushed and she muffled a nervous laughter into her denim jacket.

"Can you tell Chris I love him?", she finally demanded, "I'm such a big fan."

I bit my lip. Whose big fan wasn't she? I concealed my annoyance behind a smirk.

"Of course, dear!", I promised, crossing my fingers under the table before I watched her walk away.

After twenty minutes, I decided to have an interlude and left the terrace, my drink untouched.

 

According to my planning of the day, the next stop would be the beach. I quickly stopped at a bakery and bought a donut . As I walked down a quiet street, slowly taking the donut out of the paper bag, I caught a glimpse of a man following me from the other side of the road snapping pictures of me. I frowned in surprise and kept looking as he ran across the street and came before me.

"Hi, Scarlett. How're you doing?", he asked after he had replaced his camera with a camera recorder.

Judging by his casual outfit, his posture, the bold tone of his voice, and well, by the camera recorder, I was having the pleasure to meet a paparazzo.

I was both annoyed at the idea he would follow my every move till the end of the afternoon and excited about having someone who cared enough to follow my every move till the end of the afternoon. See the dilemma?

I didn't know how he had found me, though. Were there really lurking at every corner, patiently waiting for someone famous to walk by? No matter how, it felt pleasant just the same.

The excitement had won over, I guess.

"I'm good, thank you", I said with a neutral voice because it was apparently the tacit consensus established between celebrities and paparazzi.

He smiled, pleased to get a response from me.

So far, everything was going fine. I couldn't understand why celebrities were so upset at the sight of a pap. It personally stroke my ego. I held my chin up and showed my best profile, strutting on the pavement like a supermodel on a catwalk.

"How's the shooting going?", he asked walking backwards ahead of me.

"It's runnin' smoothly", I smiled and kept on walking elegantly.

"Are you enjoying your day out in Long Beach? Don't you miss New York? Will you be in the second  _ Avengers  _ movie? Will you have your solo movie? Is it true you're single? Why are you here on your own? When is the shooting ending? Is that a donut? Would you share?"

That made a lot questions but I took it as a sign of interest. I decided to play it coy and mysterious and not answer any of his questions.

I was still parading beautifully when the worst happened. My foot tripped over a slab and I felt myself falling forward.

"OOOOHHH!", I head the pap holler dramatically during my fall, which by the way, seemed to happen in slow motion. Yep, I think I literally saw my dignity slowly crash on the pavement and burst into itty-bitty pieces.

I landed on my knees, my palms on the concrete preventing my body from going any lower.

"Are you alright? Are you alright?", the pap asked with a sadistic entertained voice.

I felt...humiliated. Seconds ago, I was the shit, and now, here I was on my four, in the middle of the street, feeling like garbage. And with a camera recorder practically shoved in my face to immortalize the moment.

I panicked when I thought of the millions (yes, millions) of views this video would have on youtube.

"Can we...", I tried to laugh, "can we cut that out?...Please?"

The paparazzo who had been acting like my closest buddy went back to being the stranger he always was. He answered by taking a tiny step back to get a better shot.

I stood back up, wiped off the little bit of dirt on my knees then remembered I was still holding the paper bag with the donut.

"I'll give you my donut if you want", I offered.

He arched an eyebrow that clearly expressed how stupid he thought I was for even suggesting such a puny deal.

I would have taken it.

"Anyone in their right mind would pick the donut!", I said out loud with a scandalized voice. Well, actually, it sounded a lot like scolding.

I was angry this time. Not only had I fallen on tape, but I would be known as the moron who had tried to buy her way out with a fucking donut.

"Whatever", I muttered, "I'd better keep it, anyway."

That was true. Now that I was certain the video would be uploaded anyway, it was good to know I could cry tonight into a donut.

I tried my best not to drop my head in shame and quickly made my way back to my car, with the pap glued to me like a second shadow.

 

I reached the hotel with a whole new level or paranoia; I eyed the man at the reception expecting to laugh in my face, I suspected the woman at the reception, looking at the screen of her computer to be watching the infamous video, I took the employee's greeting as he walked past me in the main hall as pity.

I made my way up the corridor with my head down, feeling squashed under the weigh of all the shame in the world.

I swiped my keycard and went in. Then I dropped my purchase on the sofa then let myself fall flat down onto the bed. It hurt a little and it felt good. If it had been my face, I think I could have punched myself right now.

I hated myself and it sucked. So I decided it would feel better to turn this hatred against someone else instead.

And then I understood why celebrities disliked paparazzi. They were not following you around because you were the best, but because they craved to catch you when you were at your worst.

And I had given that donut-hater just that....

 


	11. Ego, O my Ego

The next day, I was back to shooting and I couldn't be happier as it would refrain the urge my clumsy ass have to biff in public. Actually, you know what? Don't even get me started on that subject or I would just end up rambling, hating myself and hating the universe for bullying me.

The first thing I did as I woke up was to google myself so I could gauge how viral the video had gone over the night and torture myself in the process, so I typed the following entries:

 

_Scarlett Johansson wipe out_

_Scarlett Johansson loses control of her ankles_

_Scarlett Johansson gets suddenly very emotional and gives the ground a kiss_

_Earth nucleus doesn't get along with Scarlett Johansson and wants us to know about it_

 

Surprisingly, I found many types of results except the one I wanted. I pouted. How come? The guy should have released the video hours ago. I couldn't explain why but I sure enjoyed it. I had to appreciate the peace before chaos came crush in.

Or perhaps there was a problem with my wording _._

I had a shower, got dressed, grabbed  _my_ (wink wink) handbag and headed towards the door.  I held the handle and started to open it when I heard another door being closed and someone walking down the corridor. I quietly shut the door and waited for Evans- very likely, to go past my door before stepping outside, too.

I didn't hear him burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter when he passed my door and it comforted me in the idea that the video of my fall hadn't been made public. Yet.

I waited a couple of more minutes then I left the room.

* * *

 

"I see you made it out of the jungle in one piece", Anthony said before I had even reached his side.

I sighed. "You have no idea", I murmured.

He smirked not realizing what would soon hit me.

"Wanna come to the bar, tonight?", he asked after some time.

"I'll pay!", I erupted proudly.

He cocked an eyebrow in response to my sudden outburst, "Whatever. Is that your way of saying you'll be coming?"

I itched my temple. "Hmmyeahmaybe", I mumbled, "who else is coming?", I asked with a careless tone.

Mackie looked me up and down from the corner of his eye.

"What's wrong between you and Chris?", he asked.

"Nothing", I replied. Technically, this wasn't a lie: we were at the 'nothing level', there was nothing left to discuss or argue about. We were done. "I don't see what you're talking about"

"Funny", he said while rubbing his chin, "Chris told me the exact same thing, 'I don't know what you're talking about'. It's like I'm the idiot who's making up things."

I remained silent.

"So are you coming or shall we bring our wallets tonight?", he inquired again.

I waved it off. "I'm not sure yet, I'll let you know". Gotta think this through. And just so we're clear, I didn't mean the money.

Like I had said, there was  _nuffin_ between Evans and me. We sat quietly on our respective chairs, stood up to rehearse or shoot a scene then we parted.

And like I had said many times before, I was totally fine with it. 

Well, I had been thinking this way for nearly an entire week, until  _the_ bomb was dropped. Samuel L. Jackson was soon to come on set and start shooting his scenes.  _Rufus_ would soon be standing before me.  _Ordell Robbie_  would soon be speaking to me.  _Mace Windu_  would soon acknowledge my existence with a nod. Jules Winnfield would, perhaps, do me the honor to say to me to go fuck myself (fingers crossed on this one).

And since bad news never travel without their whole family: my scenes with him were those that would be shot first. Fuck. my. life.

It was one thing to suck at acting in front of the cast and crew, it was definitely another to suck at it in front of Samuel L. Jackson. That was a lifetime and post-mortem humiliation. I didn't want him to look at me with pity, thinking ' _What a loser. How did she make into the business?_ '. No, sorry, correction: ' _What a fucking loser. How the fuck did she make it in the fucking business?_ '; let's keep faithful to the character.

I could possibly not let dishonor fall upon me and my bloodline to follow. I needed help  _a.s.a.p_ , and circumstances made it that Evans was the only one who could help, because, well, he was the only one who knew my super secret body swap situation. 

So I went to the bar the following evening, so I could get to talk to him; and so I could gather up first enough courage from booze to do so.

Evans joined us obviously and ignored me prodigiously. Every time I tried to walk up to him, to utter a word, or even make an eye contact with him which wouldn't look hostile, he would find a way to start a chat with someone, to go out for fresh air, or to turn his back on me.

I was swallowing my ego here and the guy was making it harder to slide it down my esophagus. 

At the end of the evening, when everyone started to feel sleepy or drunk, we rose up our seats, I paid!, earning the only stare of the night from Evans (a judgmental one), and we all left.

I got out of my cab pretty much at the same moment his cab pulled out in front of the hotel, which made sense considering we had each hailed a cab at the same time, which both took the same route, practically side-by-side until I promised the driver I'd pay him an extra ten bucks if he took the lead and remained ahead until we reached destination; because, at that moment, it felt cool to know  _I_  was in the lead and that Evans was doomed to be in the cab behind, following my ass (I know, it's dumb, but I think it's fame going to my head). I learnt my lesson, it didn't feel good; I still felt bummed at the idea of asking him for a favor.

Anyway, I arrived at the hotel first, I rewarded the driver then walked into the hotel. 

The man at the reception called for me to let me know someone had left a package for me. By the time the whole thing was sorted out, Evans was already stepping inside the elevator.  I took it as an opportunity to finalize burying the hatchet (regardless of the petty cab race episode) and ran up to the doors. 

This moment in the elevator could be a good way to untie our tongues.

It turned out it was the worst idea ever. The journey up the elevator was awkward as shit. We were both standing in complete silence, avoiding eye contact like when someone accidentally breaks wind and you just pretend that didn't happen and it's all cool but you actually look stiff. Well, yeah, we were having one of those. After a fart attack. 

I prayed the gods to make the elevator reach our floor fast; Evans had the face of someone who was praying all the gods to make the elevator reach our floor fast; but the gods turned a deaf ear. The elevator took its sweet time. 

He rubbed his chin, I tapped my foot on the floor; he rolled his sleeves up, I patted my purse; he put his hands in his jeans pockets and ran out of ideas of further fidgeting to do, I realized I was luckier than him when I remembered I hadn't taken a proper look at the parcel I had gotten. 

I held it up and inspected it. It was a small box with Scarlett's name on it and I checked the stamp. I blinked in surprise. It came from France. So  _chic_. I had no doubt it would almost smell like cheese and croissants if I leaned in to sniff the wrapping paper. Curiosity made me crave to open it but reason was telling me it was wrong. I couldn't open Scarlett's private mail and gifts, right? After having obtained her PIN, I needed to hold on the last string of morality I hadn't cut, yet. I nodded internally; I liked this ethical contract: open parcels, nooo; withdraw cash, yes, yes. I felt like a better person, already.

The doors of our prison opened at last, and I barely had time to glance up that Evans had already burst out of the elevator as if his survival depended on it (see? told you it felt like a fart attack).

"Evans!", I called. He swiped his key card, opened the door to his room and sighed.

"What?"

"You gotta teach me acting!", I said so determinedly it sounded like a firm threat. Oh yeah, and, no beating around the bush.

"You're asking so nicely. How can I say no?", he commented sarcastically then stepped into his room.

I stretched my arm up and blocked the door before he could close it, "You know you have to do it."

He tilted his head slightly in a amused way, "I must admit I admire the way you have to turn your needs into other people's priorities."

I grunted, "Oh come on! I suck balls at acting". He briefly raised an eyebrow in an uninterested way that meant to say I was stating the obvious, "You know you've got to give me tips"

"Why? Give me one good reason why it's my...duty...to teach you"

I winced openly, "Cause...", I trailed off, "you don't want your movie to flop at the box-office?"

Evans had the face of a game show host after a candidate had just validated the wrong answer.

"I don't care about the box-office", he said frankly, "I need more."

"Are we still talking about that memory thing? Yeah, I can tell we are from the look on your face. You do that weird thing with your eyebrows like you are doing it now", I interrupted my rambling with a wave off, "Anyway, I've been thinking about it and realized something, which I could have thought of straight away if you had actually given us a chance to have an adult conversation."

"You're the one who made us slip into a non-adult conversation", he pointed out wearily. 

"Let's say I have indeed blocked those memories like you seem so sure I did and solve that one out, Sigmund: how come Scarlett never tried to call on her cell?"

He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but I beat him to it: "And let's say I'm so dishonest that I have been dismissing her phone calls, then how come she never called her family? or I dunno, a long-time friend, currently working with her and therefore who would be in close proximity of her former body; an old friend who knows her so well he could tell she's not a fraud if she ever phoned him for help. A dear friend who-"

"Got it", he cut me off, "But I doubt I would be her priority call in such a situation. She doesn't even know my phone number from memory."

I let out a deep sigh of exasperation. 

Clearly, there was no way I could patch things up with him. Plus, it wasn't like I had solid evidence to prove him I wasn't lying.

_Bip. Bip._

I took Scarlett's mobile phone out of my purse and looked at the screen. 

 _Bip. Bip._  I grinned triumphantly. Solid argument texting.

"Hahaa", I erupted, "Do you see this?", I said as I shoved the phone in his face.

He stepped back and crossed his eyes towards the tip of his nose, "I wish I could", he said, wincing. He held my wrist and pulled it farther away from his face to get a proper look at the screen.

"That's a text from Scarlett's mom", I blurted impatient to wait for him making some comment, "Clearly, she doesn't know I'm not her daughter, which means she didn't get any news from her, which indicates Scarlett never made contact with her, which implies Scarlett never tried to reach her, which suggests she didn't have the mean to do so, which proves..."

"Good God, I really wonder where this intense reasoning is taking us", Evans said sarcastically.

"And don't you dare tell me Scarlett doesn't know her own mother's phone number, email address or freaking home address", I warned with a stiff forefinger.

"Anyway, as I was saying, it proves", I repeated louder, ignoring his initial remark, "Scarlett has also lost some of her memories."

I paused and shook my head dubiously, "No wait, that's not how  _you'_ dput it."

He rolled his eyes at me and sighed with a faint smirk.

"Is that...your way of apologizing?", I asked while pointing a finger at him, "Cause if it is, I'm ready to accept your apology and let you teach me acting."

"Let me teach you", he laughed. He rubbed his jaw then looked back at me with an unexpected sparkle in the eye. Somehow, at that moment, and for a short moment, he had stopped feeling resentment toward me. 

"I'm ready to make a deal", I chimed in, "I know you want Scarlett back and I get it. You show me some tips and I'll show you my good will in return. I can...", I thought, searching for an idea on the fitted carpet in the corridor, "open a twitter account!"

He gave me a quizzical look.

"Twitter is, is supposed to be, an open window between fans and celebrities. I'll open an official account so she can contact me. I'll check the tweets daily", Evans seemed dubious, but not as much as five minutes ago, "Hell, I'll even start a  _#FindingScarlett_  hashtag."

He looked away, sighed and unnecessarily changed posture while leaning against his door frame. He was cracking, I could tell. Victory was within reach.

"You realize you still haven't given me the reason why  _I_  should be the one doing this", he murmured more to himself than to me. He was convinced his request wouldn't be satisfied. 

"Anyway", I concluded, "Sleep on it".

I stepped away, leaving him on the spot, with a look of discontentment I couldn't quite decipher.

 

I went to bed, disappointed with myself, and not only because my exit lacked panache. I doubted my arguments would be enough to convince him to teach me some useful acting techniques. His curiosity seemed unfulfilled and I couldn't put my finger on the one thing he expected from me. 

He didn't want me here, he wanted Scarlett, and I had suggested my best idea to get her to contact us. I knew I was right. I knew Scarlett was in the same situation as I was. The major difference between us though was how more valuable than me she was. I was nobody, and that made me in that crowd of anonymous people, anybody. Scarlett, on the other hand, was famous and popular. She couldn't possibly keep on searching for her identity forever. She would just need to walk past a magazine or a movie poster to recognize her face and recall her last name.

I was Jo  _something_ , but she, no matter what, would always remain Scarlett Johansson. Her last name was attached to her persona, and made her identity. She could never become a Jane Doe. And this was only a matter of time before this undeniable truth was re-established. 

From then on, she would find a way to make contact. She wouldn't remember any phone number or address, and this is when Twitter would reveal itself to be useful.

I took the phone, downloaded the app and opened an account. I quickly wrote my username ' _ScarlettJohanssonish'_  (sad the world wouldn't be able to appreciate the full nuance of it) on a piece of paper and attached it as proof of my being Scarlett Johansson (oh, sweet irony). A message then appeared on the screen to notify me I would have to wait for the account to be verified first before I could use it.

The deal with Evans hadn't been made yet, but this felt like the right thing to do. 

* * *

The next morning, I checked my emails for a Twitter confirmation but found my reception box empty.

There was something exciting in feeling like I was finally getting the handle on that whole situation. I was done drifting aimlessly.  I needed to start steering.

I stepped out of the room just when Evans was closing his door. A flick of a glimpse in my direction tipped me off my guts had been telling me right. Something was missing in the deal I proposed. 

The rest of the morning went smoothly. Evans was silent but I caught him a couple of times watching me behind his shades. Spill it out, already. And they say women's behaviour is puzzling.

During the break, I went to my chair and took my script out, but the heart wasn't in it. Well, it was but I knew I was pouring my motivation into sand. No matter how hard I learnt my lines, I would still rouse a feeling of embarrassment in Samuel L. Jackson and the rest of the crew. I could imagine his feedback:  _'That was terrible, motherfucker. I felt more emotional last time I watched my beef steak sizzling on the grill. But good job in delivering your lines off the top of your head. It blew my mind.'_

Evans sat on his chair and took his phone out. I kept my head down in my script, bowing under the weight of that irritating feeling I was missing something out. I could sense I was in the weak position, and the worst part was that I couldn't grasp the missing key to solve that situation.  He wanted something I had failed to give, or, more specifically, something I had refused to give in. He wanted to know why I had come to  _him_ and I had shoved it aside because it meant losing the upper hand (something, I  _clearly_ craved). 

"You would do this to help...me", I finally breathed out, unable to take my eyes off the blurry lines of my script. Did saying it rip my chest open? Sort of, metaphorically. I certainly did not have butterflies in my stomach. 

I felt him staring down at me and I looked up. I chose my next words carefully. Meticulously. 

"I need your help and..."

 

A. 'you're the only person I can go to' - Yuck, way too needy

B. "I know you'll do it well"- hello, ass-kissing

C. "damn it, stop playing hard to get!" - frankness will have to wait

D. "huh...please?" - Polite, amiable, civilized to a certain extent, and a tolerable pinch of submission. 

 

 _D_ was fine.  _D_ would satisfy his ego and spare mine.

 

"...and you owe it to Scarlett, to keep her reputation in the business clean", I blurted out, "...while she's away". 

Answer  _E_. I changed my mind. Answer  _E_ is perfect. Answer  _E_ should be everybody's choice in any crisis. It breaks the mold, it keeps you from falling into your hard habits and it saves you from swallowing your pride. 

I had reversed the positions and made him feel obliged to cooperate. He might soon even beg me to let him teach me.

I put my script down and got up my chair to let the whole thing...marinate. It was only a matter of time before he'd come to me medium-rare roasted (let's drop that cooking analogy, shall we? It's getting creepy and making me hungry).

It was a harmonious combination of an emotional 'damsel in distress' confession and a 'you have nothing to do with this, but really it's also your responsibility' reminder. I went to rehearse the following scene and turned up the heat a little by my messing up the last line in a tacit cry of help. A brilliant finale.

This is without any real surprise that he came into my trailer in the afternoon and said:

"I'll come by after shooting."

I put my script down and nodded in a grateful way. I would have added "Scarlett thanks you, too", but I had a feeling it would ruin it all, like a balloon deflating in a long, agonizing squeal.

He gave a little nod too, more to himself than to me then walked out of the trailer just as quick as he had come in.  

* * *

It was about 9 p.m, after having trained for my fighting scenes then come back to the hotel and had a bath, that I finally heard a knock on the door an hour later. I rushed to the door and found Evans, who had changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. I swung the door big open and let him in.

He sat on the sofa and I went to get the copy of my script. When I returned I sat on the other end of the couch. He glanced down at what I was holding tight in my hands, on my lap, and shook his head.

"No, not tonight", he said, "that's not tonight's lesson."

"What's tonight's lesson?", I blinked.

"Observation. Gathering previous information on the character and the MCU."

He leaned in toward the coffee table and reached for the TV remote. He then slumped back into the couch, crossed one leg horizontally over the other and selected the Movie menu on the TV.

"If you really want to understand Black Widow and nail your performance, you've got to have a reference to look up to". He searched through the film list.

"But shouldn't we work on my lines?", I asked politely but eagerly.

"Not until you know your character", he said, his eyes fixed on the TV screen, going through the list. He then clicked on  _The Avengers_.

"Now, you watch this and you take notes. Then we'll see", he added.

"But-"

"This is my first tip", he cut me off, ending the conversation before it had even started.

I wanted to complain and whine, but I shut up instead. It really sucked being the one in need of help. You were expected to comply blindingly.

I took a paper and a pen and seated myself while the MARVEL intro started to play on the screen.

"It better be good, I don't really like superhero movies", I allowed myself to voice a complaint roughly disguised under an informative comment.

He detached his eyes from the screen to finally look at me. 

The corner of his mouth rose into a smirk and he said, "Oh, looks like someone is screwed."

The dramatic MARVEL intro music played in the background. 

\---------

I made some comments throughout the film. Some were related to the film, some others, not really.

"Oh, he's hot", "Only he can make an eye patch look cool", "This one's hot, too", "Did you really have to wear your grandfather's shirt?", "Why do I not have short curly hair in  _Cap 2_?", "So do Nat and Clint have a thing going on? Well, I wouldn't mind having a thing going on with him", "You gotta admit Downey has the best lines, hands down. He's crushing you  _every_ time", "Is it wrong to sort of root for the villain? You know he's mischievous, you watch him do his shenanigans but you don't really care like 'He killed someone, again? Shit happens'", "Nooo, not Coulson! Why are you trying to make me hate you?", "Random question: how did you manage to flex a bicep in that spandex suit?", "Ahaa! told ya there's something between them", "How did Banner know where to find the rest of the group? Was there even enough gas in that little moped of his to ride all the way to Manhattan? Hell, how did he even make it through the police security perimeter? ' _I'm one of the Avengers_ ', said he, straddling his moped. Tss, Joss Whedon.", "Hmm, you have a cool motorbike...for a grandpa. Now I know where all the clothing budget was put into."

Evans remained silent, focused on the movie, but his lips would, from time to time, slightly rise into a smile. He was making fun of me, I could tell.

The ending credits were rolling down when he pressed pause and turned to me.

"So? Any remarks? comments?", he asked.

"Yeah, one. Why are you the leader? Shouldn't it be Iron Man? I mean, he's from our time, he saved the day and he has the best lines. Consensus says it's the character with the wit who-"

"Any  _constructive_ remarks?", he rectified.

"I think that was fairly constructive", I started.

He sighed. "Let's move to conclusions, then", he chimed in.

I looked down at the notes I had written down on my paper.

"Black Widow is a very interesting character. She's not hot chick in a tight suit. She's badass, smart, heroic but also secretive. She's not as white as Steve is, and yet she fits in."

Evans looked at me, baffled. Confession time: I hadn't written any of this in my notes. I improvized that conclusion just to get that look on his face. 

"I understand better the stakes of Nat and Steve's relationship in  _Cap 2_. They find themselves in a situation where they've got no other choice but stick together and learn to trust each other."

He nodded. Good girl, you did your homework.

"So!", I exclaimed. Theory was fun but now I needed practice, "Where do we start?"

He rubbed his jaw, looked at the watch.

"Not tonight", he stood up and declared.

"Wh-what?", I asked incredulously, "Why not?"

"Because it's late. We'll get on it, soon", he said.

'Soon'. I didn't like it. Why not say 'tomorrow'? It was so uncertain, so calculated.  _'Soon, when I decide to'._  That kind of 'soon'.

"But we're losing time", I said.

"Scar- Look. There's no point rushing things. We'll need more than one night anyway to do this."

"Bu-", I started. I swallowed all my remarks- and I had many that were just waiting to be blurted out. It was worse than being gagged because I was actually the one keeping my mouth shut.

And...wait a minute, ' _more than one night_ '? Was that a barb implying I sucked, big time?

I tried to smile in a way supposed to conceal my annoyance but I think it didn't. Really, what my face was saying was ' _fuck you very much, oops slip of tongue, thank you very much_ '.

He walked out of the room, content; I went into my bedroom, grumpy. 

I was not sure this 'shut up and suck it up' motto was really working in my favor.

* * *

 

The next morning, I ' _accidentally_ ' walked by his trailer just when he was coming out of it. My original plan was that he would see me, run up to my side and let me know about what we would do next and when; no, actually, my original plan was him catching a glimpse of me, running after me, apologizing vehemently for cutting yesterday's session short and then promising me to make it up to me as soon as possible. That was my full original plan. But I was not a dreamer, I had learnt to do with imperfection and averageness, so I toned it down a bit.

A flick of a glimpse into my direction then he accosted a member of the crew who happened to walk by at that moment. I refused to fall into paranoia and allowed the possibility he did need to say something to this precise guy, and timing made it that the said guy passed by right at the moment Evans had noticed my presence. Please note the effort.

I slowed down the pace into tiny steps as I waited for him to finish his conversation.

I watched him walk the opposite way, instead. Looked like I would have to deal with mediocrity, today. I ended up being the one running up to him.

"Hey!", I called out.

He kept texting on his phone while I kept up with his quick pace.

"So I thought we could work on acting techniques-"

He suddenly halted, not to pay attention to me, but to take time to dial a number.

"Not now", he said, looking at the screen, "I've got an appointment."

' _You didn't seem in a rush when you were CHATTING UP Paul just before_ ', I thought with a mental eye roll.

"Hmm yeah", I said, "so tonight?"

He took his phone to his ear and raised a finger at my face to make me hold on. 

"Hey!", he said cheerfully on the phone. I felt...jealous. So much interest for the moron on the other end of the line when I was the one standing in front of him in the flesh. His finger slowly went down, then before I could tell anything, he walked off, carried away in his phone conversation.

That would be one hell of a test to pass for someone in anger management. It was one hell of a test to pass for me. I swallowed it down though and went back to my trailer, mentally taking it out on Evans. Trust me, you don't want to know.

 

I was on edge for the rest of the day, keeping myself from snapping at anyone, although in parallel, I was looking for the tiniest reason to snap at someone. 

When shooting wrapped for the day. I got a text from Evans. 

_Meet me in my trailer in 10_

Second bip.

 _'Bring a beer from your fridge._ ;)'

 

I rolled my eyes and went to the fridge. One last can of beer left. The last cure, and I was about to give it away.

I made the sacrifice. Somehow, I guess the final reward was worth it.

* * *

 

I knocked on the door of his trailer and waited, because that's what polite people in need of a favor do, and I was willing to do so as long as he wouldn't make me wait outside.

"Hold on a minute", he said.

Deep breath. I hoped that was because he was not decent. 'Enough to make all of humanity collapse into horror and chaos' kind of not decent. That was the  _only_ excuse I could give a pass on.

' _I don't recall you having any problem showing me your penis that other day in my bathroom. What's left to hide from me?_ ', I muttered in my head.

"Ok, you can come in, now", I heard from the other side of the door. So ceremonious. I expected to find him sitting on a throne.

Almost. Evans was sitting on a chair, his legs sprawled up on the edge of the table. Modern, post 2010's ceremonious.

"You got my beer?", he asked before anything else, cracking a smile.

I silently put the beer on the table. I pulled the other chair and sat.

He grasped the can, looked at it and frowned. He winced and bit his bottom lip. 

"Shoot. I never drink canned beer. Only bottled beer."

I listened and bit my tongue to keep myself from uttering even one syllable of annoyance.

"I knew I should have been more specific", he said in a low voice and yet loud enough for me to hear it.

Barb alert. Had I heard that right? Did he imply what I think he implied? My internal siren was hollering with fury waiting for justice to be done.

"Can we...get started?", I asked instead, with the most serene voice. My siren was still squealing.

He sharply looked at me for a short extra second and nodded.

"So let's work on the lines, together, as if we were rehearsing", he began. I sat up and cleared my throat.

"I say my lines and you take notes", he said with the assertive tone of a teacher. The assertive tone of a  _cocky_ ass teacher, I shall precise. The kind of teacher whose behaviour begs for animosity and hatred.

"What about me? Shouldn't I be the one saying my lines?", I dared to speak up.

He waved it off with a disdainful shrug. "It can wait. First, you need a...a model", he affirmed as he glanced down at the floor, "A reference to follow."

"This is a waste of precious time", I murmured.

"You questioning everything I say is a waste of time", I felt my tongue burning my lips, locked inside like a prisoner. "We better get started, immediately. Trust me, in your case", he chuckled while my heartbeat started to speed up, "the sooner, the better."

My palate was now burning hot. I could nearly taste acid on my tongue. My whole mouth was on fire, begging for speaking, protesting, snapping. 

"Aaargh", I breathed out loudly, making him freeze in surprise, expulsing all he irritation I had been gathering for a day now, "I can't anymore. If I don't speak now I think I'll have an ulcer. I can't stand this any longer. You are making this a shiny new kind of gut-wrenching, nerve-racking, heart-rending painful!"

He looked me up and down with a feigned surprise, the shadow of a smirk ready to emerge at any moment.

"So I've been dying to tell you this: Fuck. You. Fuck you once, fuck you twice. And I'm not gonna go with 'thrice' because that would get over the top and it will end up sounding shallow. And  _right now_ , I really need you to see and appreciate the full depth of this current statement."

I paused. I could feel the acid evaporating already, the ulcer resorbing. A true medical miracle.

He looked at me, too, surprisingly quiet. Then his head suddenly dropped backwards and a roar of laughter came out of his mouth.

"Oh man", he laughed for a good minute, pressing a fist under his nose, "I must say I'm very impressed, right now."

He lifted his head eventually, chuckling, then looked down at his watch, "Twenty hours", he said, "you put up with it for twenty hours. I mean, that's got to be a breaking record, right?"

"What do you mean 'put up'?", I asked, clueless.

He clasped his hands together and put them under his chin. "When I came to you yesterday, you looked so astonishingly cooperative, I couldn't resist to test your limits; see how far I could go until you snapped. So what made you lose it? The beer? The phone call?"

"All of it", I answered casually, taking this formality out of my way, "but why?"

He muffled a new fit of giggles. "Come on. That poker face you put on, that wasn't you, that wasn't...us. We're not gonna start acting like civilized people, I think it's pretty clear we both prefer the way it was before. No hypocrisy, no formality."

"Are you saying you like it better when I don't spare you? Aren't you masochistic?"

"Maybe", he reckoned without much interest, "But isn't it when you were to your personality? If I were in your shoes, that's what would I fear most; lose myself", he said softly looking over my shoulder, for the first time,  seeing things from my perspective. 

"Plus, it was my turn to play a prank on you", he smirked.

"We're still doing that?", I arched an eyebrow.

He looked intently into my eyes, "Why, of course. I still want to know what your name is."

He smiled coyly at me with a vivid sparkle in his dark pupils. I could sense an unsettling curiosity and interest. I had become the moron on the other end of the line, the person he had turned all his focus on. 

Evans had made it a mission to crack me open. 

I gulped. This troubled me more than when he was being annoying. I could deal with gut-wrenching, nerve-racking, heart-rending better.

"Well, I wasn't waiting for your permission", I protested half-heartedly. I meant what I said, but I knew it was meaningless in this situation. A solid defense which sounded null and void, here. 

He cracked a smile as he watched me reach over for the can, open it and gulp down a mouthful big enough to uphold and warrant my former statement.

 


	12. The Joys of the Internet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> Here's the new chapter. Thank you for the awesome comments I got for the chapter before. But I need more. I'm losing the motivation to go on with the story; I need to know you are several people giving a crap about Jo's story.  
> I'm not asking for much, just a comment to know that I'm not updating it pointlessly. Make an effort, ok? Or as Jo would say: "Pull your fingers out of-". Actually, it's better if you don't know. :p

 

 

_Actress, singer(?) and the Black Widow. When I'm not kicking ass and_

_taking names, I tweet. (kidding...I do both at the same time)_

 

I uploaded a picture of Scarlett from the internet and voila! I had officially joined Twitter.

I put my phone on my lap, then, eaten by curiosity, I got back on twitter. I was already getting followers. And not like, 2, or 3 at a time. More like dozens and dozens. 12, 27, 48. In less than fifteen seconds, people! That's what I call being popular. I watched the number of followers grow and refrained from letting my head swell at the same pace. They were not really following  _me._ Actually, they were, they were just not aware of it. 

Twitter fever got into me and I started to follow people. Cool people. Samuel L Jackson, Michael Sheen, Al Pacino, Robin Williams, Ellen Degeneres, MARVEL entertainment...

Then I thought of Scarlett and how I could reach her, let her know she was not alone. My first tweet had to count (and not just to my followers). It would have to be clear, simple, obvious to Scarlett but cryptic to the fans. 

  
  


_*taps mic* Check. Check. Scarlett? Johansson speaking._

_I've been looking for you, now come & find me._

  _#DoIreallyhavetouseoneofthose #hmmokay_

 

Followed by this link:

 

[ http://tinyurl.com/n79e8yo ](http://tinyurl.com/n79e8yo)

 

Alright, it wasn't really cryptic. I could have done better and more intricate, but the point wasn't that I get it, but that Scarlett could get it. 

 

My phone buzzed.

 

_C.E. - See you at your trailer during lunch_

 

Now that he had outed his prank and that we had put everything down on the table a few nights before, Evans had revealed himself to be fully committed to his new teaching coach activity. He plunged himself into the job and turned all his attention on me, my intonation, my face expressions.

Every time, I would walk away with the pleasant feeling that I had evolved. Not 'running up for the Oscars, move off the way, bitch' type of evolved, but evolved as in 'no longer clueless'. 

 

"Can I ask a question?", Evans told me as he gazed at me behind his ridiculously long eyelashes. I looked at him: he had puffy, sleepy eyes. He had started shooting some scenes at 4 a.m. and it started to show on his face.

He was asking so politely, it'd be rude not to answer. It would also be tacky knowing he was helping me.

"Go ahead", I said.

"Why do you want to learn acting  _now_? You never asked before."

"Because of Samuel L Jackson", I answered like it was the most natural reason in the world.

Evans laid back on his chair, crossed his arms with a content smirk spread across his face.

"Oh so you're a fan of Sam?", he asked.

I had no idea if it was a habit of his to call him 'Sam' or if he was just rubbing the fact they were so very close in my face.

"I'm not a fan. He's Samuel L. Jackson. Period. All is said."

"I can't disagree with that", he shrugged as he held his hand in front of his mouth to cover a yawn, "Have you seen all his movies?"

I felt stung, "I've seen  _enough_ of his movies to know and say he's one of the best!"

"Okay, that's a no", he snorted.

I lifted the script up to my face to block the view of his smirk and 'incidentally' signalize I didn't wish to continue this conversation.

"You know Sebastian is coming soon too, by the way", Evans commented. 

The name had the same effect as if I had been thrown an aramaic word and asked to comment on it. I hesitantly lowered the script and glanced in his direction, hoping the answer would be plastered over his face in neon letters.

Evans probably read the distress because he said:

"Sebastian Stan aka the Winter soldier."

Acting practice No 1:

"I know who Sebastian Stan is", I protested.

We engaged into a battle of stares, waiting for the other to yield.

"No, you didn't", he uttered slowly, "you said it yourself that night you were drunk at the bar. You just don't remember names."

"Are you really doing this?", I asked then let a long, dramatic pause linger on, "Basing all of your argumentation on the babbling of a drunk?"

He ignored my remark and kept on musing.

"Wait a minute", he eventually spoke up, "You're the one who put sticky notes on everyone's back, aren't you?"

Busted. I needed a way out. 

I put the script up again and hid behind it. Was I magically invisible, now?

"You do know that script doesn't make you magically invisible, right?", Evans said. 

Obviously. It wasn't like I had been given a solid way out, such as a gas leak in the trailer that would force us to interrupt our talk and run out for our lives; or someone barging in: "Oh my God, someone is choking on a massive peanut right now, right behind this door. Put  _everything_ on hold. Don't even voice another word. We need your help, Scarlett!". I took first aid courses last year. 

"Fine, it was me", I sighed as I dropped the script on the table, "And I'm actually pretty proud of my genius post-it idea."

"I'm not sure I can give you 'genius'; but novel, yes", he assessed, "By the way, you remember  _I_  took the blame for it? Even now, they're all convinced I refuse to own up to it."

Of course, I remembered.

I grinned, " _That_ was the genius part."

He shook his head slightly.

"Aren't you sneaky?", he purred. 

"Well I'm officially on Twitter in case you doubted I'd do my part!", I exclaimed.

He had an amused smirk on, now. "Yeah, it was hard to miss. That was a very smooth and discreet entrance you made there", he commented.

I grinned proudly, "I like to make a grand entrance."

"Yeah and a grand exit, too", he said casually, focused on reading my lines.

I blinked. He had noticed. A new emotion slowly started to grow and a thought to invade my mind. 

Did that mean that I was easy to read? 

This question left a sour taste on my tongue. I promised myself I would get more unfathomable from then on.

"I didn't want you to say I didn't really try to catch Scarlett's attention."

"Fair enough. You shut me up for this one.", he pouted, "But now do you think there's even a chance Scarlett might read your tweet? I mean since we have established the fact you didn't have facebook, twitter nor a phone number how do I know she even has a laptop she can use, you hillbilly."

I shot him a killing glare. "I said I don't have facebook and twitter. But I do have a cell phone, a laptop and even a tablet in my shack, thank you very much." 

"That's great", he said coolly, "but is there electricity?"

"Shut. Up", I mouthed very ostentatiously, earning a chuckle in return.

"Well, let's wait and see, right?"

"Speaking of Twitter", I said, "I've been thinking".

Evans took his eyes off the script and looked at me closely.

"Should I follow Ryan Reynolds or not?"

A couple of deadly silent seconds went by during which we exchanged a conniving look that hesitantly, but finally, burst into a fit of laughter.

"Good one", he chuckled as he pointed at me and snapped his fingers. 

He then went silent and mused. "Hmm, I don't know. It would be awkward either way. Your call", he concluded as he rose from his seat. That was the signal for the end of the lesson. I also knew he had plans for the rest of the afternoon. 

"Isn't the point of getting a divorce to stop having to give a crap about what the other has to say?", I remarked.

 

* * *

 

And just like that Ryan Reynolds was crossed off the list.

Later that day, I got on Twitter to have a look at the replies following my first two tweets.

In a nutshell?

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish_ _OMG! ILY_

 

_Please @ScarlettJohanssonish, can you say 'hi'? ily_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish ILY_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish I'll die of happiness if u retweet me_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish HAHAHA love Scooby-doo. I see someone knows their classics_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish Huh...what? What is that supposed to mean?_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish OMG Scarlett, you're on Twitter! Best day ever!_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish Haha #Yesitsthewaytodoit #Coolhashtag_

 

Then came another different tweet, from  _TaintedHeart123_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish So deep_

 

Oh God. Finding Scarlett would take some time,

 

Evans had a say about it, too. 

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish Subtle..._

_#hashtag #StopRuiningMyChildhooodCartoons_

 

I rolled my eyes. I also got a notification telling me he was following me (did that mean I had to follow him back?). I ought to expect many more shades and silly tweets akin to this one. Oh joy.

I clicked on his tweet and checked the kind of comments it was getting.

 

@Chris evans  _@ScarlettJohanssonish You two are hysterical ROTF_

> _@ChrisEvans ILY_

> _@ChrisEvans @ScarlettJohanssonish I ship you too so DAMN much_

> _@ChrisEvans @ScarlettJohanssonish You guys are so cute. Kiss, already._

 

I almost gagged at the last one. I quickly escaped this hell, going back to my Twitter account page.

 

 

I spent the rest of the day discussing work with the Russo brothers and random stuff with Mackie.

"I see you and Chris have patched things up", he said, not expecting an answer but hoping for a subtle reaction, "You guys are so confusing. You went from ignoring each other to locking up together in your trailers. What are you doing there?"

I smiled.

"Would you believe me if I said he is teaching me acting?"

He looked me up and down, perplexed and almost offended.

"Nah", he answered with a stern face, "I wouldn't believe it."

I chuckled then felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I reached for it and smirked when I read the alert I had set on earlier in the afternoon. The delightful moment of the day was about to happen. 

"Gotta go", I said quickly and walked away leaving Anthony alone to ruminate.

"Fine. You guys want to keep me out of it", he called out from his spot, "You're a bad liar, Johansson."

Sometimes, the best way to keep something secret was to share it thoroughly. People often found the truth hard to believe when it was given to them without condition. Blame it on our society, area 51,  _CSI_ , MacDonald's, or whatever you want. I'd personally blame it on men's skinny jeans. Men's skinny jeans should take the blame for every thing going wrong in the world.

 

It was a little past 4 p.m and, at this moment, I knew for a fact that Evans was taking a nap. 

I stopped at my trailer to retrieve two crucial items.

 _"When are you finally going to pull your prank? Am I supposed to get a registered letter, first? Are you getting rusty, or what?"_ , he had said. I sniggered in prospect. 

When I finally got to his trailer, I looked right and left and gently opened the door. I sneaked inside and found him sleeping. I tiptoed my way to the bed and bent over him. 

I took exhibit No 1 out of my pocket. I removed the cap, twisted the tubular base and smirked at the view of the bullet slowly coming out.

I looked at the lipstick I was holding. It was perfect, a beautiful and unmissable shade of red.  _Scarlet,_  I had picked. I couldn't count on him to pick it out but I sure wouldn't leave the ironic choice go unnoticed. That was too devilish, too brilliantly devilish. I don't know how I managed to keep my evil laugh in, but I did. It took a herculean inner strength.

I leaned over again, held my breath in and delicately, surgically, applied the lipstick on his mouth. I had made sure the balm would be greasy enough to slide effortlessly and lusciously on his soft, delicate lips, like soap in a tub. I stood straight back up, let my breath out and admired the work. What am I saying? The masterpiece. I was almost officially done when I noticed the nearly empty plate put on the floor. Evans had 'treated' himself with a salad and two slices of cucumber had been left on the side. 

That was too perfect. No, no, too  _convenient._

I picked the two slices and gently put them on his close lids, praying the demon of pranks to keep him asleep. The demon answered my wish, and how could he not, my prank was just too magnificent to be spoiled.  I took a step back and couldn't restrain the snort that roared inside my throat. I bit my tongue right after. It was even more beautiful than what I had imagined. But a masterpiece wasn't a masterpiece if it was not put on display for an audience to see.

I reached for my phone, checked it was in silent mode, then pressed the camera button. I picked the ideal angle, zoomed in but not too much and I took the picture. I nodded approvingly to myself...then I took another photo, just in case the first one wasn't good enough. I then knelt down by the bedside, came as close to his face as possible, raised the phone in the air, I grinned and immortalized the moment. And I thought selfies were useless.

I slowly rose back up to my feet and put my phone into safety (aka my pocket) and proceeded to the final step of my plan. I reached for exhibit No 2, and if you knew me well, you would already know what it was. A nice and official envelope from the post office on which I had written in capital letters: 

 

**WATCH OUT. PRANK COMING.**

 

See? I told you that prank was a masterpiece.

I left the envelope on the mattress next to him then I creeped out of the trailer.

 

As soon as I reached my comfort zone, I took my phone out again and went on Twitter. I uploaded the photo of Evans and me grinning like a maniac and added as a caption:

 

 _@ChrisEvans Evans' secret beauty tricks_.

#yourturn #scarletcollectionlipstick 

#sleepingbeauty #haha #nailingthishashtagthing 

 

I pressed TWEET. The exhibition had officially opened.

 

Minutes felt like hours. I fidgeted and paced around, glancing at my watch every thirty seconds.

The picture was being retweeted at the speed of light. And the hashtag  _#SleepingBeauty_  was even trending. I had always thought Twitter was pointless and boring, but it was actually awesome...as long as you were Scarlett Johansson or a celebrity, that went without saying.

Mackie came around, laughing at his phone screen.

"Is he awake, yet?", he asked eagerly.

"Apparently not", I smirked.

He looked at the screen one more time and laughed.

"Oh man, I can't wait."

"Oh yeah? Well, tell me about it", I pouted, "Did you retweet it?"

"You bet!"

"Good."

"Good one, Scarlett!", Joe Russo called out as he walked past us, "You guys let me know what  was Chris' say about it."

I dragged my official set chair only a few yards away from his trailer, slumped in it and sipped a can. Mackie leaned over the tree besides me and waited too.

 _It_ finally happened after I had drunk one half of the can. Evans pushed the door open and appeared at the frame with a grumpy look on. When his eyes fell on me, his hard and confused look shifted to one of clarity, comprehension, perhaps a touch of wonderment (and who wouldn't?), - but you know what?, definitely of respect. That which he would evidently not show.

He walked up to us, stood before me, hands on his waist.

"Whoa. That's what I call a power nap. Look at you, you look fresh and beautiful, man", Mackie commented. The external sarcasm was originally not on the program but I could do with this type of unforseen event. Evans' lips had lost their bright shade of red from before, though they kept a noticeable shade of pink and looked slightly swollen and sore.

"That's pretty low", Evans said as he looked at Anthony from the corner of his eye before turning back to me, "even for you."

"Did you get your mail, today?", I asked with a teasing look as I took a sip of my drink.

He scrutinized me without a word for a couple of seconds.

"Why do I have the feeling you didn't just stop there?", he mused out loud, "You can't have stopped there. God knows I wouldn't have stopped there if it were me."

A tough choice suddenly presented itself to me: should I blurt out the whole Twitter situation faster than a woman puts on lipstick and enjoy the view or should I shut up and let him ponder obsessively, for hours maybe, until it eventually smacked him in the face? Like I said, tough choice. 

Actually, not that tough.

"Why don't you figure it out by yourself? You're a big...girl"

Mackie sniggered as a conclusion to the final act and I left as Tony had asked me to come over to the gym for a last training session.

 

* * *

I was working on my front knee kick, -my super badass front knee kick, when Tony who was blocking said:

"So, a prank game, huh?", he sounded curious and amused

I struck my knee again against his palm, put my foot down to get momentum like he had taught me.

"Well, what can I say? Being an actor is a very boring job, you gotta keep yourself entertained", I replied cockily. I had my fill of amusement for at least two weeks.

He chuckled, "That was pretty creative."

"I know", I said matter-of-factly. I was not ashamed to be proud. "I worked hard on that one."

My coach smiled. 

"Does he know for the picture? Good, now kick higher."

I complied with another strike, "Not that I know of. But it's only a matter of time."

Two hours later, I headed for the showers and got dressed. The phone which was deep down my sports bag lit up as a reminder that I had gotten a text.

 

 _7.10 p.m C.E. - You don't know what you just triggered_  

 

The corner of my mouth rose into a smirk. I texted back.

 

_Sounds like fun! I look forward to it <3_

 

I walked out of the changing room then across the training hall to reach the exit. I saw Tony tidying up through the material.

"Ding dong, he knows", I called out.

Tony laughed, shaking his head.

 

Obviously the prank did not change our schedule. We were to meet in my hotel room to work on my acting.

"I gotta say you outdid yourself on that prank", Evans said eventually. He then paused and seemed to smirk at a thought crossing his mind,"I'm actually quite happy about it. I've always made sure not to cross the line, but after you did today, it gave me the green light. Now I know I can quit sparing you."

I raised my hand and shook it in the air.

"If it's you trying your intimidation tactic on me, don't waste your breath."

He held his hand to his chest and closed his eyes,."Oh bless you", he said with a sweet voice that did not fit our conversation about resentment and revenge, "The fall is gonna be even harder. Don't say I didn't warn you." 

"Did you like the photo?", I asked.

"You mean artistically speaking?", his crooked smile let me know he wouldn't make any further comment about the picture itself. 

"Was it really necessary to use the cucumber too, by the way?", he asked.

At last.

"Well, that was not in my initial plan..."

"Exactly. That's my point."

I smiled with all my teeth.

"You know I just looked down at that plate and saw those two slices of cucumber that you had left on the side. Those two slices and nothing else, that had to mean something, right? So I assumed that it was because a part of you wanted me to add the cucumber, you know,  _unconsciously_. I'm sure you can explain it better than me, you're the expert in that field."

"Oh fuck off", he grumbled waving me off, "I'm never gonna apologize for that one, so why don't you just suck it up?" 

"What a macho", I mumbled disdainfully.

"Invalid argument", he said, "I have a photo that proves I fully embrace my feminine side. So take your feminist remarks elsewhere."

I grouched internally. I hated him for stealing my lines and making them his. Each self-deprecating joke he made was one barb less for me to use. He was basically depriving me all of the fun, and we both were well aware of it.

 

* * *

The next morning, Evans and I both had a forty-minute gap we had agreed to use on practicing my ability to emote. The terrible thing about me was that I was the type of person who, if they were asked to cry, would just burst into laughter. I had received a couple of gawking looks from the Russo brothers, and let me tell you, it sucked. 

I looked at the time on my phone screen. I was a bit late, which was technically dramatic when you have the schedule of an actor. I burst into Evans' trailer without knocking (oh, did I forget to mention it? Yeah, we were back to our old routine).

Evans was waiting at the table, holding a donut, he smiled earnestly when he saw me. "Sorry, I'm late", I said while I dropped my script on the table and search through the pages to find the scene I wanted to work on.

"It's alright", he answered with a shrug. "I can give you my donut if you want", he offered.

"No, I'm good. I had breakfast", I said as I kept on skimming through the pages, "So the hospital scene. I need to cry, Evans. Make me cry my eyeballs out."

I heard him snort lightly.

"First of all, important rule when it comes to crying on camera: less is more"

"I know that, but I just can't cry on demand. Believe it or not, I tend to do the opposite of what people tell me to."

"Shocker", he commented, opening his eyes wide.

I admit, it wasn't some braking news, it wasn't even news at all. It was just stating the obvious. But I had to be sure he knew where I was standing to take me on the way to crying my ass out on demand.

He shifted slightly on his seat.

"So Fury is supposedly dead, he's her boss, she's a spy. Why would it affect her so much to lose her boss?"

"Because he's more than just a boss?", he went along.

"Exactly! But the audience doesn't know that. They barely know her history so this scene is giving out an important piece of the puzzle."

"Which is why you have to nail it", he said casually.

"Yeah. Which is why I can't screw it up"

"It's all about subtlety here. You have to show a glimpse of her vulnerability. A mere glimpse."

"Yeah, cause then she goes back to being her usual badass self less than a minute after. She remains the Black Widow, no matter what, but with a soft spot"

Evans nodded approvingly.

"You want my donut?", he asked out of nowhere as he held out the pastry in my direction.

"So how can I- No. I'm good. Why do you keep on asking if I want your donut? I told you I didn't want you don-"

I froze. The donut right before my nose, the sparkle in his eyes, the smirk rising on his lips, the donut right before my nose.

The donut.

The donut.

The donut.

It hit me hard.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

Evans was howling with hysterical laughter, slapping his knees, holding his pec, his body twisting over his chair, one tear rolling down his cheek. Asshole.

And don't even get me started on the fact he stopped on his way to the set just to buy a donut and rub it in my face (practically in a literal way). It was petty. Petty and cruel. 

And logical too, but strangely, it wasn't as funny when you were the recipient.

"Oh don't give me that look", he breathed out between two fits of laughter, "You would have done the same to me if the tables were turned. Actually, I believe you would have done even worse."

"Yes, I would have! Doesn't mean you had to come down to my level. And even less take any pride in it!"

He rolled his eyes.

"When was the video released?", I asked.

"I heard about it this morning, but who cares?", he bent down on the table, put his chin on his forearm and eyed me seductively, "The details. I need the details." He purred the words with a sheer delight. "Oh but first", he recalled then reached for his phone. He pressed a couple of buttons and held out the phone to me.  I didn't have time to protest, I just recognized my Scarlett Johansson self walking in the street and gasped in shock.

I snatched the phone to get a closer look at it. _"Hi, Scarlett. How're you doing?",_ the voice of the pap spoke through the speakers.

"He posted the whole segment. Son of a crippled, one-armed, blind bitch", I muttered. I barely heard the sound of Evans' snort, I was compelled by the images playing before me.

I watched as I contently walked on the street.

"Were you strutting? It looks like you were strutting", Evans asked as seriously a scientist doing research, his chin still pressed against the table. Apparently, he had seen it so many times, he knew it by heart.

"I totally was, yuck", I glanced at Evans as he buried his smirk behind his forearm.

 _"OOOOOOOOH"_ , the pap hollered in the video. I cringed. I had just fallen on the ground. I couldn't be bothered to count all the shades of pathetic this fall was, but just know this, there were as many as what your wild imagination could come up with.

"Here comes my second favourite moment", Evans commented like he was the freaking voice over or something.

_"I'll give you my donut if you want"_

_He closed_ his eyes as in focusing on a melody. "Never gets old. Never gets old", he whispered to himself, cracking a smile.

Yeah, I could have definitely done without the live commentary. 

I looked at myself on the video. I had this earnest expression as I held that donut out to the guy, the genuine desire to fix my shit up. Too late, you dumbass.

 _"Anyone in their right mind would pick the donut!"_ , I listened to myself exclaim with outrage.

Evans was laughing in silence, a fist pressed under his nose,  being tactful not to spoil the grand finale from me. 

" _That_ is my favorite moment", he concluded by way of epilogue.

I looked at the number displayed right below the video. Over 400,000 views within a few of hours only. 

Damn you, men's skinny jeans.

I had just killed Scarlett's dignity. I had slayed it, ripped it apart, spat on it, then I had kicked it one last time just to make sure I wouldn't leave one resilient piece of it behind.

"Q&A time. Every showing ends with one", he looked up at me with a cocky smile.

"Oh go to hell", I rose from my chair and walked out of the trailer. 

When I quickly glanced back, I found him standing behind me.

"For what it's worth", he said from inside the trailer, as he leaned his forearm on the door frame, "I would have picked the donut, too."

The smirk he had on slightly softened into a gentle smile. 

 

 


	13. Fairy Godmother Is a Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there! Sorry for the delay! I went on vacation.  
> Thanks for the awesome comments. Keep 'em coming.

I could have kept crying over my inanity but then would it have plunged the whole world into a sudden and irreversible amnesia concerning the video? If only. But the real answer was no. Obviously, I felt ashamed, dishonored. I hadn't even tweeted anything yet. I couldn't help picturing all my followers, and the others, judging me from the other side of their screen, waiting to scrutinize my next tweet then inevitably turn their thumb for my public execution.

Scarlett's publicist had called me. She had advised me (understand ' subtly but clearly commanded me') not to give any official statement or interview, until the buzz died down. All this for a fall? Fine, _and_ an attempt of bribing...with an innocent donut!

So I sucked it up.

Evans was a real sweetheart about it, though; he dug that 'anecdote' deep down into oblivion and soon helped me forget it had even happened. I walked past each and every member of cast and crew, grinning at me and saying 'You want a donut?' while handing a pastry to me. It seemed Evans had robbed the closest Dunkin' Donuts factory and left it empty.

Any conversation I had, any comment I made became an opportunity for them to tease me, a risk for me to be mocked.

 

_'Joe, I think you forgot to give me next week's shooting schedule'_

_'Sorry about that. I can give you my donut to make it up to you'_

 

_'Frank. Have you seen-'_

_'- your donut? I gave it to you, remember?'_

 

_'God, I'm so full. I can't eat any more'_

_'Really? Not even a donut?'_

 

_'Can you help with my crosswords? Edible thing ending with T'_

_'Donut'_

_'With_ _**eight** _ _ letters' _

_'Oh. Doughnut!'_

 

_'Hello?'_

_'Yes, hello, this is Bart speaking. Homer says he wants his donut back.'_

You got the idea: it sucked.

"Scarlett, can I ask you-", Jerry came and asked while I was working on my script.

"If you're asking for a donut. The answer is fucking no", I cut him off sharply.

Evans, sitting on the chair next to me, erupted in laughter.

"Leave her alone, Jerry" George Saint-Pierre exclaimed from where he was standing, "She's clearly going through some major withdrawal."

When Canadians start to throw barbs at you, that's when you know you fucked up bad.

I waited for him to walk away then threw my head backwards and groaned.

"Oh my God. How unfair! I don't even like donuts this much. I'm much more of a muffin person. How long before everyone moves on? Cause  _ I'm  _ ready to move on! You guys are just beating a dead horse, really."

Evans looked at me with a straight face.

"The video has been online for a day"

"Yeah, a lifetime for a mayfly", I commented.

He laughed some more.

"Luckily for us all, you are not a mayfly. Which gives us two...", he smirked at the sight of my cold glare, "...or three more weeks to run with it."

"I'm thrilled"

"Oh? Expecting a cargo of donuts?", Thierry commented with a wink then walked away.

I sighed. Evans muffled a laugh.

"You know I can't possibly count this whole thing as being your prank, right? You didn't elaborate shit, you just took and used what was before you. So no, I won't accept it."

Evans showed the highest shade of outrage.

"Wait, what?", he exclaimed as he took his off his sunglasses to look right at me, "Are you saying I can give you shit two times in a row without getting any pay back? Outrageous". He shook his head protestingly. "Just outrageous. You're spoiling me. I don't think my mom would like it. You're a bad influence on my mother's education."

I rolled my eyes.

"So you wanna pass?", I asked.

His mouth shut instantly...which was a scarce miracle in itself (and that deserved to be noted).

"Never. Don't you dare", he shook a finger. He then shrugged. "Accepting a treat from time to time won't shake up my education to the ground."

"No, cause the real concern is you showing sheer enthusiasm at torturing a lady."

He raised an eyebrow. "A lady? What lady?"

A friendly smile came replace his cocky expression.

"Come on, Chris. There is no other lady but you", his assistant exclaimed as he walked past us.

I didn't know who would win this prank war, but there was one certain, we were suffering collateral damages we had not expected.

Reason would want me to act like the most mature one and end this game before it got any worse, right? Well fuck reason if that meant losing to Evans. I could put up with the constant mocking.

And so I finally tweeted.

 

_For what it's worth, that was one tasty donut._

_#teamdonutalltheway #itstofallfor_

_#chocolateglazedincaseyouwerewondering_

 

The rest of the day went without any bad joke, which I guess made sense since I had spent hours working alone in my trailer.

When I came out to have a coffee break, I found my tweet had been retweeted nearly ten thousands times. Mackie and Evans had a say about it.

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish WHERE'S MY CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIIIIIIIIIE?_

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish Can't believe you didn't pick Boston Creme..._

_#whatiswrongwithyou? #everythingBoston_

 

I got a text from Scarlett's publicist, too.

_Great way to handle it. See? Told you it'd be a good idea to be on the social media._

Everybody seemed to agree on the fact I had a talent at getting myself out of hazardous situations. That, I knew already, but it was nice to see the world acknowledging it.

I wondered, if somehow somewhere, my pap was crying in a dark, damp corner. Probably not, but it still felt good to picture. 

I also did my usual round of tweets to check if Scarlett had tried to contact me. I was not sure how I would recognize her, but I put my bet on an angry, revolted tweet; "You ruined my career!", or something along these lines.

Instead, I found the usual tweets:  _ "ILY" _ (also declined like  _ 'I love you' _ ,  _ 'I love u' _ ,  _ 'I luv you' _ , _ 'I  <3 you' _ ), " _ Can you say hi? _ " (can be declined like ' _ please, say hi _ ', ' _ please say hi and I'll be the happiest person in the world _ ', ' _ pleaaaaase say hi or I swear I'll kill myself _ '), " _ love chocolate frosted doughnuts, too! _ ", " _ Aww, you're both adorable and hilarious about it _ ", " _ paps suck _ "; and many other messages, more or less related to the hot topic.

You know what? How about we stop with the daily tweet round up and I ring the bell only when I found a solid lead?

The next day was meant to be a busy day; every hour of the day was assigned to a specific work. And guess what? I didn't mind! There was something incredibly thrilling in the idea of never feeling bored.

I had spent years of my life surrounded by boredom, doing nothing more than complain because I was bored. I had always wanted to get the hell out of my very personal black hole and move to a big city that would give me life. I had longed for freedom and adventure. I had thrived to become someone. I wanted to have a story to tell. Sure, now I was stuck in someone else's body; but wasn't it the most adventurous tale? Wasn't I one of the most famous and envied celebrities in the world? It was like I had spent such a long time whining that the universe had answered my prayers and smacked me in the face with a supernova version of my every wish just to make me shut up.

I still missed Jack, though.

I guess the universe had yet a few lessons to learn.

"Did you see my tweet?", Mackie asked as I walked up to him and Evans sitting on their respective chairs.

"Yeah", I sighed.

"You know, I really think it's the god of cookies who punished you that day for not bringing me the one I asked for."

I shared a conniving look with Evans.

"Insightful", I commented dully.

We chatted a few more minutes until Mackie rose from his chair to answer a call.

"Having another lesson, tonight?", Evans asked.

"I can't. Tony is coming tonight to make me rehearse my fighting choreography on set. Then I have some test shooting to do."

"Right", he said, "Now I remember seeing that on the schedule."

"Speaking of", I asked coyly while tapping my phone on my palm, "would you say I have improved? I think I nailed yesterday's scene. Right?"

He paused and tried to minimize the twist his lips instinctively made.

"Well...I wouldn't say it was perfect", he trailed off, "but it was good!", he exclaimed enthusiastically....too late.

I went silent, but no worries, my body language took care of translating explicitly.

"Oh, come on", he cheered, leaning onwards in his chair and squeezing my elbow, "you'll get better faster than you can drop an F-bomb in a sentence. Okay, maybe not as a fast."

"Obviously, you're the expert, sir Daniel Day Lewis", I muttered.

"Ouch", he laughed, "You found it. You found my weak spot. I don't have an academy award. But I'm still somewhere between Daniel Day Lewis and Robert de Niro compared to your acting."

He smirked at me whilst I eyed him in silence.

"You know, all those hurtful words could have been avoided if you had just fucking lied better", I said eventually, "You had one job, Evans."

He smiled and I went to my trailer to have my make-up done.

 

My day officially finished at 2.45 a.m.

After every choreaphy had been checked and modified if necessary, we waited for approval from the directors then we finally called it a wrap for the day. We all clapped, -but really it was just a couple of flabby, out of sync tapping, then everyone parted.

By the time I reached my hotel, it was over 3 a.m. I took my shoes and clothes off, and looked in the dark for the satin slip I had left on the bed the morning before (which techinally was the day before now). I did not find it and assumed the hotel maid had moved it to another place I couldn't be bothered to find at this late (or early?) hour. I went to bed and cuddled against a pillow under the sheet.

The next morning (which technically was the same morning but only a few hours later), I woke up and started my morning routine with my usual ritual. I kept my eyes closed.

"1...2 and 3", I rushed and opened my lids. I rose my hands in the air. Obviously, I was still here.

I looked at the time on the phone, got out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom. I had woken up later than usual.

I heard some ruffling outside in my bedroom.

"Who's there?", I asked, opening the door a bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry", the hotel maid said, "I thought you were gone. I can come back, later."

I smiled, locked the bathroom door and turned the water on. I heard her mumble something unclear from outside then it was quiet again.

I stood under the shower head, lone hand pressed against the wall. The water was warm, relaxing and yet gently stretching up every sore muscle of my body. I couldn't remember what was the planning for today, but I knew one thing, it wasn't going to be as busy as yesterday.

And then I remembered. My eyes were wide opened, I was fully awake. Samuel L. Jackson was coming on set, today.

Sorry, let me start, again.

Samuel L. Jackson was going to grace our set with his motherfucker-lesque presence!

Officially, it was a friendly visit, he was coming for some costume fittings and other boring details no one wanted to hear about because the improtant news was that Samuel Jackson was on his way.

I got out of the tub -almost slipped, and wrapped myself in a towel.

My head was fuzzing. I had thousand of outfit ideas but zero good one. Should I play it simple or elegant? Was I supposed to look casual or drop dead gorgeous?

I could do a bit of sexy, you know, just to make a striking impression.

I ran to the wardrobe, with a big grin plastered on the face, and slid the doors wide open. My eyes widened in horror.

The wardrobe was empty.

Ok, I said I could do some sexy, but I never meant showing myself to Samuel completely naked. Talk of striking.

I slid the door back to its former position to open the second one.

It was empty, too.

"No, no, no", I said to myself, panicking.

I slid the second door close, then open again. Stilll empty. Close, then open again. Empty. 

"No, no, no, no, no, no", I barely breathed out. Close, then open again. Still empty.

No matter how often I tried that desperate move; no matter how hard I made the wish in my head to find clothes on the hangers and on the shelves; the wardrobe was still tragically void.

I rushed to the hotel phone to call the reception and ask for an explanation.

I sat on the bed, water dripping out of my hair.

"Good morning, miss Johansson", the man answered.

"Hi. Hmm. Have you seen my clothes?", I asked.

A silent pause followed. "I beg your pardon", the receptionist asked.

I didn't have time for this kind of shit? I was about to repeat my question in a more frantic and less cordial way when I noticed the paper put right under the lamp.

I recognized the handwriting.

"Huh, never mind", I said absently as I reached for the paper and put the phone down.

 

_On her big day, the young girl could not find anything to wear._

_"Oh this is terrible", she cried, "Aren't there really any clothes spare?"_

_"You can go to your fairy godmother for help", a voice sang outside her door._

_"Or if you shan't, you can still wear that one thing in your drawer"_

 

So...tacky.

I ran to the piece of furniture, though and opened the drawer. It was empty, too, except for that one thing inside. Well, two actually. Scarlett's pink socks.

"Damn you, Evans", I groaned.

There was no way I would go begging him for my clothes. I was an adult, I could fix this situation by my own...and with the help of someone. I took the phone. All I needed to do was call Lindsay and ask her to get me some clothes. Problem solved.

I went through my contact list while I sniggered to myself. Nice try, Evans, your prank could have been decent if you had thought all this through.

Oh oh. I couldn't find 'Lindsay' on the 'L' section. The 'I' section had a new unfamiliar contact, though. 

_Is It Lindsay You Wanted To Call?_

I pressed entry. Lindsay's phone number, which I didn't know by heart because I never learn them as Evans found out...from me, had been replaced by a new one.

_666-666-666_

Hell, yeah, asshole.

I quickly looked for a spare outfit to wear but I counted on Evans' demoniacal mind to ensure he had not left anything behind.

I then remembered I had thrown my clothes from last night on the floor. They were very simple, probably smelly, too, but all I needed was something to wear to go the set. Then I would shower and wear Natasha's clothes, there. Fuck, I'd even wear her leather catsuit all day long if that meant watching Evans cry behind his dumbbells over the failure of his prank.

But those clothes had gone; the clothes from yesterday night (or early this morning, whatever the fuck) had  _ gone _ !

The maid had assuredly taken them with her before leaving the room. Gosh, Evans had the luck of the devil! Guess the demon of pranks, who was on my side just a few days ago, was now standing upright by his side.

I looked at the paper, again. Whatever; I would win.

I opened the door of my hotel room and popped my head out. I looked left and right then I carefully stepped outside in the corridor, keeping a tight grip in the towel over my breast, my naked feet, quietly treading upon the thick carpet.

I knocked on Evans' door. And the jerk made me wait several seconds as I kept a vigilant look on the end of the corridor. He eventually opened the door, leaned on the frame, his eyes looked me up and down, a wicked smile slowly rising to his lips.

"Fairy godmother speaking", he said.

"Give me back my clothes", I muttered.

"You mean Scarlett's clothes", he furrowed his brows.

"OK, you had fun now give me those clothes back."

"Please, we're just getting started", he snorted. I slightly jumped and nervously started to fidget when I heard the sound of the elevator. Evans smiled amused but kept the door securely blocked against his foot, "I don't know if you remember but I warned you and you underestimated me. I told you it would be painful."

I heard the elevator go past our floor.

"Yeah, yeah. Can we skip that moment when you swing your dick and move straight to the conclusion?"

"Glad to see this didn't make you lose one bit of your refined humour", he commented with a sublte smirk.

"Did I forget to say 'please'? I'm cold, wet,  _ naked  _ in the middle of a corridor, so yeah, I may have left my refinement at the door. Oops", I answered coldly, clutching my towel harder.

"I've got an outfit for you, actually", he leaned down then lifted the hanger he was holding high enough for me to admire, "What do you think?", he asked.

The so-called outfit was a hideous costume, the replica of a giant, smiling donut. There were five big holes for the head and the limbs.

I shot my best unimpressed, cold stare.

"I told you I didn't accept your prank to be in any way related to that stupid donut story", I grumbled.

"Right, you said that. I just chose to ignore it. My prank, my rules", he defied me with an antagonizing stare.

I was bothered, probably pissed too, and yet, somewhere behind all this anger, and the envy to commit murder, I couldn't deny that his manly, provocative attitude with his piercing blue eyes daring me to protest could have been hot and arousing if he wasn't...well Evans.

"I hope it was worth the trouble", I said flatly" If you knew me well, you'd know I'd rather go to the set with my towel than with this."

"But I know you", he affirmed, "which is why I think you will consider my second choice."

He showed put the second hanger to the front. I almost gasped in shock. Picture the most horrific second choice, now. Well that thing you pictured would be my dream choice.

There was hanging a black T-shirt, seemingly perfectly basic, until you saw the picture of Evans grinning like a goofball, with a caption saying below ' _ CHRIS EVANS GIVES ME LIFE' _ .

"I like the touch of humor", I feigned to laugh, pointing at the text.

He held up the hangers, putting on display the two monstrosities that were fighting to get the first prize. So far, it was a ruthless tie.

The guy was clever, I had to admit. The plan was not to have me wear this ridiculous donut costume, it was to make me put on that disgraceful T-shirt. The costume was a mere instrument here serving the sole purpose to help the T-shirt achieve the transition from 'never ever' to 'slightly hypothetical'. Conclusion: I was wrong; he had thought this through.

"Here are your options", Evans said with a smirk, "You can either wear this horrendous donut costume or you can put on this really cool T-shirt."

"Or”, I proposed, “I can kick you in the balls with my knee because I have learned how to do this and force my way in to my clothes."

He bit his bottom lip and smiled. He slightly leaned in to me.

"I'm wearing protection", he whispered with a smug look. He stood back up straight. "Plus, your clothes aren't here. Did you really think I would keep them here? I put them somewhere safe."

I mentally shot him bullets with my eyes. He took his phone out of his pocket.

"You might want to know that Zach is waiting for my call. If I don't ring him in the next ten minutes or if if I call to let him know that my balls were squashed..."

"I thought you said you were wearing protection", I cut in with a devious smirk.

"He'll get rid off the clothes for good", he continued, ignoring my comment, "Probably to some charity."

"We're not in a gangster movie", I felt the need to remind him.

The elevator went in motion again.

"Which one do you choose?", he asked.

"I can't wear that T-shirt", I exclaimed. Because obviously we were talking about the T-shirt; we both were well aware that this donut costume was just a trick, "It will kill me."

Evans grinned. "And  _ that  _ is the touch of humor", he purred.

My feet started to fidget at the approach of the elevator to our floor.

"Just let me in before someone finds me here, like this"

"First, you choose. And obviously I'll put a picture on Twitter -you know, one eye for an eye, and you'll have to meet Sam while wearing it, but that's a given", he pouted with a quick shrug.

There, I felt like crying.

The elevator bell rang, announcing the opening of the doors.

"Fine!", I groaned with a mixture of rage, defeat and begging.

He smiled devilishly, grabbed my wrist and swung me inside the room swifty before closing the door. I had officially stepped into hell.

 

* * *

"Stop trying to scratch it off!", Evans said as he caught me pinching one piece of dried ink off the fabric and throwing it away.

I groaned in response. We were both sitting in the car that was taking us to the set.

"This prank is so low and petty", I commented.

"Yeah cause yours just oozed sophistication"

"Hey, I paid $30 for that lipstick so show some respect!"

He leaned onto the back seat.

"Let me guess, with Scarlett's money", he smirked with a tone of voice full of innuendos.

"You know, Evans, I hate to break it to you -because you seem pretty invested in both roles, but you are not Scarlett's mother; and you sure as fuck aren't her banker, so cut me some slack."

We reached the set ten minutes later and Evans insisted on having me take the long panoramic tour to greet as many members of the crew as possible. Most of them smiled, chuckled or laughed, understanding it was my turn to take the position of the prankee.

"Can I go into my trailer, now?", I mumbled.

"Why the rush? We haven't seen half of the cast, yet."

Mackie greeted us with a squealing laugh. He high-fived Evans (finally getting his long awaited revenge on me) then he held his hand over his chest gasping for air. I wished he just choked to death. Yeah, I was moody.

"Oh man, you two gotta stop, you gotta stop. You're gonna give me a heart attack", he said howling.

He finally took a closer look at the T-shirt.

"I need a picture!", he eventually exclaimed.

"You're reading my mind", Evans said, a smirk rising from the corner of his lips.

Mackie took his phone out and stood next to me, Evans came and stood on the other side.

"Say cheers!"

They both grinned. I cringed.

"Love it!", Mackie said after looking at the picture.

"Another one, another one", Evans said.

The second picture went through longer and more meticulous staging than the rehearsal for the upcoming visit of Barack Obama.

To give you a visual, Mackie had one knee on the ground, his arms reaching up in a worshipping posture towards the big picture of Evans printed on my T-shirt, looking in awe at the sight before him; Evans was standing by my side, looking all proud, trying to put one finger inside my ear while I was leaning away, cringing in repulsion.

"This one is going on Twitter", Evans said.

"And so is mine", Mackie chimed in, "as in right about now". He took his phone out again.

I pounced on him in protest (and by instinct of survival, definitely). He held his arm out and pressed his hand palm against my forehead, keeping me from taking any step closer. I flailed my arms, still standing in this uncomfortable posture, trying to reach for his cell anyway, while Mackie kept the pressure on my forehead with one hand and tapped on his phone screen with the other.

I heard a snap. I froze in motion and my head slightly rotated to have a look. Evans had just taken a photo.

"I swear if you publish this photo on Twitter...", I groaned, slapping Mackie's arm away and stomping towardsmy new target.

He hid his phone behind his back.

"Samuel L. Jackson is here" a crew assistant came out of nowhere and announced.

"Oh, I wanted to wear my super cool leather jacket to greet him", Anthony said. He ruffled my hair and dashed off, (cause you know, not only did I have to be dressed like Evans' number one groupie, but my hair also had to look like I had just rolled out of bed)

I turned and stood before Evans, blocking the way.

"Let me get changed", I breathed out pleadingly, "I have have behaved myself since we left the hotel."

"Behaved yourself?", he rose an eyebrow, "You tried to assault Mackie less than a minute ago."

"Well, I wasn't  _ actually _ going to kill him, ya' know", I protested coyly.

I looked up at him, straight in the eyes.

"Look, I'm gonna be super honest here; this morning, I promised myself I would make a striking impression on him."

"Believe me, Sam will be awestruck", Evans snorted.

I refrained from wailing and running in circles like a mad person and decided to accept my sentence. I certainly deserved it.

I walked along beside him, in silence, musing about the first words I would say to Samuel L. Jackson.

"How does Scarlett call him?", I asked, looking straight ahead, nibbling my forefinger.

I felt his look on me.

"She calls him Sam", he said.

I nodded.

I tried to think of the best way to handle this unexpected prank in front of him. I would probably just laugh it off and act cool. Scarlett would probably act cool about it. The last thing I wanted was to traumatize him. My field of expertise.

I was still walking, my head in the clouds, when I realized Evans was no longer by my side. I turned and found him standing a few feet behind. I shot him a quizzical look.

He sighed. "I'm probably gonna regret this but...I think you should get the meeting you hoped for", he said with a slight smile and shrugged one shoulder.

I remained mute, uncertain of what I was supposed to understand.

"I sure as hell would've hated the person who would have ruined my first encounter with Tom Brady", he added, half teasingly, half heartedly.

I mentally rolled my eyes. Of course Tom brady had to make a cameo at some point.

"For real?", I asked while cocking an eyebrow.

The corner of his mouth rose slightly, "For real."

The disappointment and even all the annoyance I had been feeling since the beginning of that messy morning were instantly replaced -well first, by denial, but mostly by surprise. Surprise on so many levels, but the biggest one being about Evans proving himself to be a better human being than I was (or maybe I would have let him have his dream encounter with Brady if the tables were turned, I dunno, I hadn't decided yet).

He had taken me by surprise, fooled with me, tossed me around like a child with a ball, and finally, he had spared me and let me off the hook. That was unsettling for the sole reason that I had not seen it coming. I smiled, thrilled at the prospect of achieving my original goal.  Overwhelmed by excitement, and without thinking, I jumped up and held him in my arms to express my gratitude, my chin brushing his shoulder. His arm guardedly came around my waist with a gentle touch.

"Tom Brady would be proud", I teased after I pulled away.

I said I was grateful not meek. And I still had to swallow that new Twitter humiliation. It was only a matter of hours (what am I saying? minutes!) before I went back to being the butt of everyone's jokes on the Internet.

He rolled his eyes with an amused smirk and I ran to my trailer.

  
  


 

 


	14. “Enough is enough! I’ve had it with these motherf**kin’ snakes on this motherf**kin plane!”

 

I changed and opted for, well the only spare outfit I had left in the trailer really: some black jeans and a navy blue top. Nothing glamorous, nothing elegant. Nothing transcendent. But I wasn't going to be picky: after wearing a T-shirt paying tribute to Chris Evans' awesomeness, any other item of clothing following was perfect. Refined and tame.

I stepped out of the trailer and found Evans leaning right next to the door, waiting. He groaned in protest when he saw me. "You look...boring", he commented.

"So do you without your red lipstick on and yet I don't make a fuss about it," I answered while closing the door and heading towards the main set.

He smirked, walking alongside me.

"You can keep bringing this up as much as you want, I don't care now. I got my revenge."

I shrugged, kind of melancholic, mourning the end of the glory of my proudest achievement (yes, _proudest_ ).

"So are you ready to meet Sam?" he asked, "Have you decided how you are going to play it?"

"Allow me to answer straight to your innuendo, I intend to _play it_ cool."

He snorted. "Come on. What I meant is that there's nothing wrong in acting a little bit like..."

"A maniac? a freak?", I finished.

"I was about to say like a fan but you seem to think solely in extremes. There is no in between or tame nuances with you."

I responded to this with a scowl on the face.

"By the way", he continued, not hiding his smug grin, "do you still plan to ask him to call you a motherfucker?"

I gasped at him, ready to protest.

"What!?...Who told you?"

Yeah. There was no point in denying it; my new life goal was to have Samuel L. Jackson call me  _motherfucker_. He had made this insult so legendary and full of flair, that it was now a compliment to receive it from the man. Evans could sue me for all I care.

"You did. At the bar the other night."

"I have to stop drinking around you," I muttered to myself. I then raised my forefinger at him, "Well, if I did share this with you _willingly_ then I must have also said I want him to tell me to go fuck myself."

"Yep"

He laughed.

"Yeah", he said approvingly, "cause _motherfucker_ would lose all its charm said on its own."

"Precisely."

I didn't know if he was just joking. But I wasn't. I meant it.

"Go fuck yourself, motherfucker", Evans said, doing a (pretty convincing) impersonation of Samuel. My stomach almost fluttered.

I giggled at the prospect of it coming true.

"No, no. More like 'motherfucker, go fuck yourself'. Motherfucker has to sound like it's your new name, you know. Samuel L. Jackson is mad at you and he's decided to rename you motherfucker cause you deserve it."

"He's just fixing your parents' mistake," he chimed in then we both laughed.

"Are you motherfuckers makin' fun of me?", we heard a familiar voice say behind us. A voice you could recognize anywhere.

Evans and I shut up. He flipped around in a swift motion and enthusiastically hugged our surprise interlocutor. I slowly turned, in silence, torn between the shame of giving off the wrong impression for a first meeting and the thrill of having had my wish granted so quickly. And so flawlessly, I must precise.

"Nobody makes fun of me. Especially when I ain't around."

Evans patted his shoulder one last time then pulled away and I found myself having my skull drilled through by the only force of Jackson's stare. I cautiously raised my eyes up to his face then I looked at him bashfully.

"It wasn't my fault. She dragged me there," Evans saved his skin.

I slapped him on the arm with the back of my hand and a major eye roll. Betraying me, again.

Alright, if I were to go down, I would go down with class.

"Fine," I sighed, "I'm guilty. Just tell me to go fuck myself, now."

He scrutinized me, arms folded across his chest with a stern look that soon turned into a devious smile.

"I ain't gonna tell you that. Cause you're a lady, cause I'm a gentleman, and most of all because you're askin' for it."

He laughed then leaned forward to hold me in his arms. The disappointment was soon replaced by amazement. I hugged him back. In a _cool_ way; meaning without clinging to him like to dear life.

"So I see you've had quite a busy life, lately", he said with an amused smile, "trying to bribe a paparazzo with a donut, -"

"Did Evans fill you in?" I muttered. Okay, last thing I wanted was to be labeled 'the donut girl' in his mind. I wouldn't take it if he just ended up making donut jokes to me with the others. It was not the road my fantasy had taken. We were supposed to be a team: it was supposed to be us vs the world. Us making fun of everyone else, together. 

"He ain't filled me in. The internet filled me in," he protested while Evans turned to me and wiggled his eyebrows with a content smirk. Fine, he was innocent. For once. Let's send flyers out to the population to spread the news. 

"Don't underestimate my ability to surf the net, young girl. You were still learning to ride a four-wheeled ass bicycle when I typed my first message on a keyboard."

"Don't overestimate the age of computers", I said under my breath.

Evans heard me and a soundless laugh came out of his mouth.

"So yeah, quite a busy life; greasing the palm of paps..."

"...unsuccessfully..." Evans commented while casually fixing one of his rolled-up sleeves, discreetly adding his little contribution.

"...torturing Chris," Samuel continued then smirked, "successfully."

It was my turn to look at him. I could have wiggled my eyebrows but _I_ was not a kid. I just flashed him my most devilish grin.

"Torturing me? That's some bullshit," Evans objected in the highest form of outrage. He could be in court, accused of serious felony and he would have shown more self-control than here.

"Did you like it?" I cozied up with Samuel meanwhile, putting one hand on his shoulder.

"Are you kidding? I loved it," he continued, not fully aware of the torment he was dragging Evans through. If there was one thing I had learned about the guy, it was the following:

 

 _Bad sport_ [ding, ding]

 _Sore loser_ [ding, ding, ding, ding]

 

Normal people who lose move on, normal people with a big sense of competition who lose whine, complain and then move on. Chris Evans who loses trash talks, protests, then is haunted by his defeat all night long while lying in his bed.

Something I would definitely take to my advantage.

"And you still haven't heard about the mail," I chimed in, "I personally think the prank loses all its appeal if you don't know about the registered mail."

"I wanna hear all about it," Jackson slurred.

"Come on!" Evans was dangerously fidgeting. If we were in a cartoon, we could have seen drops of sweat falling off his forehead profusely. Sadly, we were just in our imperfect reality. "You can't possibly side with her, it's the first time you two even meet."

"Yeah cause I just woke up one morning in this body," I snickered loudly. Then I looked up at Samuel and shook my head dully. "Really sad. Looks like he's run out of sensible arguments. I'm sorry to tell it doesn't cut the mustard...Wait. What am I talking about? I'm not sorry at all."

I grinned to Evans with unreserved contentment. And how could I not? I had every reason to. I was giving Evans a little payback for his prank, Samuel L. Jackson was on my team, he had just laughed at my sarcasm, and Evans had just made himself an object of ridicule. What a bright day, after all.

But wait for more.

Bomb launch in 4, 3, 2...

"Come have a seat and you'll hear all about it, _Sam._ "

Evans capitulated. He threw his head backwards and sighed loudly, biting his bottom lip to hide his amused smile nonetheless.

***

Sam heard all about my prank. He found it brilliant. At least, that was how I took his genuine smile and light snort here and there while I was telling my prank.

We spent a good forty minute chatting. I was getting to know him and he was catching up with a friend. But it was a divergence that swiftly went unnoticed. I basically tried to avoid any 'do you remember when we...?' talk.

Evans had gone missing for the most part of it; sometimes chatting around, sometimes going out. But never intrusive. Even when he was around, he would remain standing at a distance, not even glancing in our direction. I know, I kept an eye on him.

"..and so I texted back Downey: ' _you thought I was your bag of peanuts?_ '"

I turned my attention back to Sam. He was snorting proudly, clearly making reference to an inside joke Scarlett was supposed to know and that I had no clue about no matter how hard I tried to crack it open. His eyes started to twitch, his grin slowly fading away and being replaced by a frown of discontentment. Alert: the situation was getting awkward.

"Ha!", I squealed suddenly with a wide open mouth, channeling the highest level of gloat and catching the attention of everyone else in the room in the process. Sam startled slightly then softened as he watched me laugh wholeheartedly.

Evans walked up to us looking either entertained and quizzical. I couldn't tell for sure.

"What was that about?" he asked, hands in his pocket, standing before us.

Sam told his story. As he voiced the words ' _bag of peanuts_ ', Evans burst into a fit of laughters and I had to follow the lead again, in a lesser degree this time. I mentally wished I could get what all this fuss was about though.

"Guess who's the new star on _Twitter_?" Mackie barged in, right behind Evans.

I rolled my eyes.

"What? Don't tell me you _omitted_ mentioning it?" he asked, feigning incredulity.

The story was told. Sam listened, first entertained, then slowly growing creeped out, if you want my opinion. He probably felt like he had just thrown into a freakhouse.

"You two should take it down a notch," he eventually uttered, "I read stories of homicide for far less than that."

"I say I will still keep my retweet and favorite record, anyway," I chimed in, "Nothing can beat Sleeping Beauty. _Nuffin_."

Evans smirked, "Just give it a day"

"I don't care who gets more retweets in the end as long as my tweet about sweat is forever put into oblivion," Mackie shrugged.

Evans and I instinctively looked at each other and snorted.

"Give us a break, Mackie," I hollered.

"No one will ever forget about it. Take it to your grave."

Anthony didn't voice a word. He said everything he had to say by slowly pointing out to us back and forth with a facial expression that seemed to promise us a lifetime of suffering.

"I see I'm gonna have some serious parenting to do around here," Sam mumbled as he drew his first conclusions, "As if I didn't have enough on my plate already."

Honestly, I looked forward to it.

 

* * *

Sam had to go eventually. And the best part was that he was soon to be back and stay until the end of his filming schedule.

"He's so good he could shoot all his scenes in one day if it was up to him," Evans said, and rightfully so, "It just takes longer to set the equipment."

I mentally thanked slow, cumbersome technology.

I stopped worrying about shooting my scenes with him. Now there was only excitement and impatience. I was positive playing opposite him would help me improve my acting fast and copiously. Let it rain, already. Obviously, I would not share this belief with Evans, I had a feeling he wouldn't take it really well somehow. Go figure.

I was in a good mood for the rest of the day because, firstly I genuinely was, and secondly, I had no reason (nor right) whatsoever to complain. I was obligated not to be a bitch. And the good fortune was that I was totally fine with that, as well.

When I came back into my hotel room this same evening, I had the pleasure of finding all my clothes stored back where they had been taken from.

But I wasn't really done for the day yet. After showering and putting on comfortable clothes, I went knock at my neighbour's door.

"Ready for your acting coaching?" he asked opening the door wide as an invitation to come in.

Yeah, I had made it a point to stop calling it acting lesson; it sounded like a big chunk I would never get through, it sounded gloomy and it just made feel down in the pumps. ' _Acting coaching_ ' was light-hearted, very enthusiastic and promised a bright future ahead of me. I could actually picture myself achieving it. Wording was everything, wording was everything. I had first suggested to use ' _sharpening_ ' or ' _enhancing_ '; Evans had nodded politely (and politely only) but then I had brushed them away because they were dishonest terminologies. There wasn't shit to enhance or sharpen here, we were building on a wasteland. Period.

"First of all," I said nervously after I took one step inside and let him close the door, "I got to let this out of my chest...you know...so it can be moved out of the way."

Something had to be done and said.

Evans went back to standing in front of me, waiting for what would come with full attention. His right eyebrow rose as he looked at me trying to restrain my obvious nervosity. He invited me to continue with a firm nod but slightly anxious look.

First thing first, a chapter had to be closed. After this morning's event, I had to resign myself to admit he had won this prank war. I had sworn to him that I would surrender if he managed to take me by surprise, and he had. Not (only) because of his prank, but because when he had the chance to keep it going, he cut it short to allow me to have my moment with Samuel L. Jackson, just like he made sure to stay away all the while he and I were were conversing. That was more consideration than I had ever given him, more consideration than I probably deserved. Obviously, he would never know that.

"You win," I breathed out with sheer exhaustion. Those were not easy words to say, "This whole prank thing, you won it."

He stared at me intently, hesitant, unsure, then his facial features relaxed. He put his hand over his chest and sighed heavily.

"Phew, I got scared here for a second. I thought you were going to make a love declaration"

I rolled my eyes while he laughed at his joke.

"Anyway, like I promised, I owe you something," I said, ready to say words I hadn't said outloud in weeks, "My name's Jo."

He paused for a fraction of second then he looked me up and down attentively with the shadow of a smirk as if he was seeing me from a new light, like he were seeing _me_ for the first time.

"Alright Jo," he stressed my name with a playful, purring voice. He then furrowed his brows, "If I recall correctly, you also said you would throw conf-"

"God, what a child," I muttered while I reached in the pocket of my pants and thrust a handful of colorful confetti up in the air. He smiled and stood in silence until the last confetti landed on his shoulder.

"Sure, _I am_ the child," he snickered. I sighed and walked off toward his sofa. He shook the confetti off of him and walked after me. "And where's the bottle of champagne? You said confetti and champagne."

"Lindsay is probably going to ditch my ass any time soon for sending her out run some absurd errands like this one. And also probably for sexual harassment."

I thought of the accumulation of those unfortunate events: the weird emojis in my texts, my locking ourselves in the trailer for 'privacy' when I used to avoid him, without mentioning the very first time I met her in a bathrobe. I had traumatized this poor girl.

"Yeah cause a bottle of champagne is way more absurd than confetti," he snorted.

"Oh right, about that. I have a whole bag of confetti in my room, now. Do you know anyone who might want it?"

He smirked dryly, "Let me skim through my address book."

"Duh. I didn't know confetti were sprayed with sarcasm."

He winked then frowned while he seemed to process a belated piece of information.

"Wait a second, what do you mean by 'sexual harassment'?" he asked with deep interest, his body language begging for explanation and juicy details.

"Oh you know," I shrugged, "chatting, sharing clothes, a little of foreplay. The usual...Why? Don't you guys do this, too?"

I gawked at him with a stunned face.

"Don't worry, _Jo,_ " he said, "I'll keep asking till I get a real answer."

He flopped down on the sofa and I stood tall and square in front him. I held my hand out..

"Now, I don't know how you managed to get one, but I want the keycard you keep using to get into my room."

He looked up at me in pure bafflement.

"And give up my best leverage? No fucking way."

"Yes fucking way," I protested sternly, "I can't possibly let you keep this key and go to bed peacefully; not when I know you could come in while I'm sleeping and do things to me."

"What kind of things?" he asked.

He was gazing at me keenly, his wide pupils questioning me with slight concern, his rising smirk daring me with unapologetic curiosity to continue.

I crossed my arms over my chest. Really? I could see many types of things, each subdivided into many shades.

"Like draw me a mustache!" I exclaimed, "What do I know? I'm not in your sinister mind."

He erupted in laughter while I just stood there and sighed.

"This is actually better than everything I had pictured in my mind."

He shifted a little and thrust his hand in his back pocket. He took the keycard out and held it out to me.

"God forbid I vandalize your face with a permanent marker."

I did not pay attention to his words, I was too busy processing the scary image in front of me. I mean, really? Was I the only one who had seen it?

"You carry it around in your pocket? You're a fiend," I hissed before I leaned in and snatched the card.

He kept laughing while I safely slid the card into my pocket.

"So did you go on _Twitter_ , today?" he asked.

I sat on the couch.

"Yes and I sill haven't found Scarlett," I answered.

"No," he said with a wave off motion, "what I mean is did you have a look at the picture I posted?"

I dropped my head backwards. Even more excruciating than if he had actually intended to remind me of my undesired presence here.

"I did. That T-shirt looks even worse than the buried memory I had of it."

"One day, you'll miss it," he assured.

The drama _coaching_ started eventually. As those sessions were also always naturally drifting to casual conversations at some point, tonight's conversation revolved around me. Around knowing Jo (please excuse the use of the third person, body swaps could get you to extremes). Evans had numerous unexpected questions to which the revelation of my name had opened the door. Like an untold permission to voice out loud inquiries he had kept to himself until then.

I didn't mind answering them because:

1/ I guess he deserved it as a winning prize

2/ I was working on decreasing my level of bitchiness (I didn't want to scare Sam away)

3/ I appreciated his genuine curiosity

4/ these were perhaps the last memories of my former life that were doomed to slip out of my grip too for all I know. It was better to share them with someone while I could.

5/ do you really need a fifth reason?

 

"Where are you from?" he asked.

I winced internally. Ok, maybe not with this question.

"Michigan" I exclaimed. I put the best enthusiasm possible, like a person proud to say they are from Paris or London. Sadly, the gap between the tone and the announcement had my effect fall flat like a cake in the oven, without mentioning the fact that I was addressing the Boston guy, here.

"From the armpit of the USA?," he commented with a dirty smirk.

"Oh just shut up", I mumbled.

Yes, I did use that expression  _all_ the time and I guess it was only fair to have someone finally bitch slap me with it. But not him. Only a person from Michigan could mock Michigan. I sure wouldn't let a Boston boy do it. Plus, in his mouth, it almost sounded like an insult. He could have called my parishioner aunt a cheap whore it wouldn't have taken the same disdainful connotation.

Chris broke into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" I muttered.

"It's just, you gotta admit, what were the odds?" he said between two laughs, "I am shocked you got picked for that body swap thing. It requires undisputable might and perseverance. You should be thrilled."

He kept on laughing while I fumed internally. Life was easier when he didn't know a thing about me.

 


	15. Embracing the Black Widow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, are there still people around? It's been awfully quiet around here.

 

_Humbled by the little joys life brings me.I stare_

_in awe at the beauty of these miracles.They can_

_take long but they ALWZ reach destination_

 

Don't be mistaken, here. Chris Evans was not thanking life on some deep, philosophical level.   He was celebrating.

A chapter -- the chapter of a stimulating, mostly fun but eventually humiliating-- prank war had been closed. Or so I thought. Evans was still too busy sharing the news. Mackie heard the news. Then the rest of the cast heard the news. Then the whole crew on set heard the news. But since a movie cast and crew was considered too little of a crowd, Evans judged it necessary to address a bigger crowd. Thus the whole world heard the news. Now let us all join hands and pray in circle that he would judge it big enough of an audience, or otherwise the NASA and RKA would soon count a formidable contestant in the run for alien life discovery. 

I sighed while tapping my reply on the phone screen.

 

_@ChrisEvans and I stare in awe at the infinite abyss of your humility._

_Shall I make it easier for you and call CNN?_

_Im sure they can fit it in._

_#shuuuush_

 

My phone buzzed a couple of minutes later. I smirked when I saw the new tweet.

 

_@ScarlettJohanssonish Easy to snark behind a phone screen._

_Try again in person._

 

_@ChrisEvans I'm on my way, Christotle Evansocles_

 

I arrived on set less than an hour later. Evans walked out of the conversation he was having with his assistant and a member of the crew, and came up to me, his usual smirk slowly raising to the lips.

"Are you trying to start a second round? Haven't you had enough, already? You know you don't have to look for a reason to put on that T-shirt if you miss it that much. You can just wear it." 

I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans. 

"I'm making good use of that T-shirt, thank you very much. My punch bag is wearing it. You'll be happy to know that my kicking skills haven't stopped improving ever since."

"A real badass," he pouted.

"And you don't know it all. Even Tony the other day asked to slow down cause the bag is close to rip open apparently. On the other hand he's glad I have found motivation." 

I paused a moment.

"Twitter too, really?" I questioned him with piercing eyes.

He shrugged, standing tall and square.

"What makes you even think my tweet concerned you?" he asked.

"Please," I sneered, "it had ' _I won_ ' all over it."

Evans pinched his bottom lip to conceal his smug smile. Busted.

"You would have done the same," he defended himself with a calm voice.

"And this could have been relevant if we were talking about me. Which we are not."

He squeezed his eyes with a dubitative expression..

"Are we not? Are we not discussing a random tweet which _you_ concluded is all about you although it makes no mention or reference to you whatsoever."

I looked at him with my best dead eyes (you should see the look, it's pretty convincing; you would believe you're suddenly conversing with a corpse)

"Don't dance your way out of it, Evans. Don't swap positions. I'm the innocent one of the story here, you're the mean one." 

"Innocent," I said pointed at myself, "mean," I continued after a pause and pointed at him.

"Innocent. Mean," I restated a few more times, repeating the same gestural pattern.

"Whatever sort of brainwashing you're trying to do here, it's not working," he said dully, hands in his pockets.

I dropped my hand.

"Obviously. I would have killed it in a dark room with a strong light aimed at your face and after a week of starvation."

"God," he muttered with sheer frustration, shaking his head to add dramatic effect, "it kills me to know we'll never find out."

"You wouldn't be so sarcastic if it was accompanied with two weeks of steroid withdrawal."

He sighed.

"How many times am I gonna have to tell you this? I _don't_ take steroids."

"And I don't wear make-up! I just naturally look red-lipped, pink-cheeked, shaped brows gorgeous. We are two blessed people." 

"Just because it physically hurts you to do any kind of sports doesn't mean that the rest of the world feels the same about it."

Touché. 

"That is the _least_ relevant argument that has ever slipped out of your mouth. And trust me, it's an achievement when you consider all the bullshit you've said since we met."

He snickered.

"Thanks for the big ass clue. Now I am positive I've hit a stroke." 

"Oh for fuck's sake. Even the guy who delivered the wrong size of reflector last week and didn't stay more than five minutes cause the light tech was so pissed at him has probably concluded I'm lazy before leaving. Yeah, I am lazy and proud of it. It takes great skills to achieve that level of laziness. So why don't you and your delts go take a walk and chill?" I paused as I recalled an important detail. "But not too far, remember we said we would rehearse my scene in an hour...Huh, thanks."

Well talk of awkward. 

I eyed him bashfully.

"And if you're pissed right now, well remember you won. No matter what I can say, you're the one who won. I'm just steaming off, here."

He stared at me, dead silent.

"Not enough," he eventually spoke, "I need more than that."

I shot him a quizzical look.

He smirked deviously.

"The wording," he explained, "I know the wording means everything to you. You keep saying that I won but you never actually admitted you lost. I want to hear you say it."

Thunderbolt. Right on the money. 

"Come on, Evans. Don't be immature." I uttered in an attempt to cool things down.

"But I _am_ plain immature when it comes to winning," he retorted, not even trying to fight it, "I'm the worst. Or second to worst, it seems."

"Well, if you know me so well you should also know that I'd rather die a painful death than say that."

"Oh I know," he shrugged, "which is why I made it personal to make you yield."

"Well even Satan is wishing you all the luck in the world to achieve this."

"I'm in no hurry," he concluded with a voice so calm it gave me goose bumps.

"Don't hold your breath," I warned, "gotta keep oxygenating that unsteroided trapezius muscle of yours."

"You plan to go through the whole muscular system?" he sneered lightly.

"I like to test my knowledge," I said with a smug grin.  And it was now in my plans to check out the Wikipedia page that night before I would run out of vocabulary to spill.

"CUT THE CHEEEECK," we heard Mackie bawling not so far away and putting our dispute on pause.

"I didn't know Anthony was filming a scene this evening," I mused out loud.

"Yeah," Evans said, "slight change in the schedule."

Anthony came strutting his way to us.

"Were you watching and learning what classy acting looks like?" he asked.

"Actually we were discussing human anatomy," Evans answered with a smirk.

"Your loss," Anthony shrugged then turned to me, youre filming tonight, right?"

I nodded smugly.

"I'm finally going to put all my fighting techniques into practice. Half of the guys I'm gonna beat up tonight tormented me with lame donuts jokes. Time to kick some ass! I'll try not to grin too hard on camera while doing it."

The boys were now laughing.

This evening's shooting was officially the last day of filming before moving set. In a couple of days, I would be in Washington D.C with Sam Jackson, my revenge accomplished, and my pride restored. 

"How many views does the video have now, by the way?" Evans asked.

Anthony shook his head.

"Not far from the million, I think. And I must confess a good four hundred thousand comes from me."

Evans erupted in laughter.

"I've got my share, as well. I'd say probably five hundred thousand of the views are me," he turned to me, "Look at the bright side, that leaves only a hundred thousand people who've seen your video."

"That's what I call rejoice material," Mackie commented. They exchanged a conniving smirk then high fived.

"What is really rejoice material here is you not getting to face me tonight as Black widow," I muttered, "I would have kicked your asses so hard it would have changed the rating of the movie."

The next evening I looked myself in the mirror admiring my cat suit. I had to give Scarlett some credit: her body made it looked hotter than it aimed to be. Plus, I totally looked lethal in this outfit. Such a convincing costume that it implanted murderous thoughts into my brain...mostly about Evans and Mackie. Run them over with a high speed-train, push them out of a plane down an erupting volcano, and do I need to say more? We all had once these fantasies, don't give me that look.

Part of me wanted to strut my way to the set with elegance and yeah, let's face it, with conceit, but another part of me was silently traumatized by the event that followed the last time I dared to listen to it aka the-fall-which-must-not-be-fucking-mentioned-without-using-Voldemort-referring-paraphrases.

Evans and Mackie had left the set. Too bad, I was missing out on a big chance to do some visual intimidation.

My coach Tony was present though to make me rehearse one last time in my costume. Then, half an hour later, I was officially shooting my most physical scenes to date. And it was awesome. For the first time in my life, I literally felt badass. All these sophisticated jumping, flipping, punching, kicking; it was like those mind games you were playing as a kid, picturing yourself kicking some ass beautifully while clumsily throwing your leg in the air, were finally becoming true. The whole result was mind blowing, incredibly realistic. 

Sure the body harness cock-blocked me from being entirely immersed into my inner child playing the super spy fantasy but it also helped achieve such above-law-of-gravity stunts that I didn't mind much wearing it.

Shooting those scenes were tedious, though. This was not a one-shot filming. Every stunt, every technical motion had to be filmed again and again to give the directors the widest range of choices for post-production. One strand of hair falling out of place was a reason enough to shoot again.

And it made sense. Black Widow wasn't any low-class spy: she was  _the_   spy. She killed with chic and with her hair combed perfectly. At all times. The most dangerous criminals are not feared because they kill around, but because they do it with a neat haircut. There is nothing scarier than an acute sense of sophistication - therefore education - in someone who does something as uncivilized as taking a life. 

I liked the fact that in spite of the fact she was an Avenger, Natasha still remained a redoubtable enemy to make.

Speaking of enemies, I took great pleasure in kicking (Hollywood style) my bullies' asses. I did it professionally though without never actually getting rough (although the temptation was hanging in the air like a persistent perfume). I may have smirked at some point in the heat of action, just when I was about to tie a cable around Stephen's neck leading his character to choke to death, but the Russo brothers loved it. They said it would really remind the audience of Natasha's second face. The smirk I had cracked changed into a beaming smile.

Then I beat the shit out of Larry and pretended to knock him out with a pipe and it felt just as pleasant. When Joe cried 'cut', I turned to Larry, getting up from the floor and I said: "Now I'm actually in the mood for a donut". Larry, not being a dumb ape, got the reference. He sensed the revenge and snickered bitterly. I was unstoppable, I was badass and I was good at it. It truly felt like I had found my vocation: professional ass-kicker with tidy hair. This had to listed as an official job position. 

The shooting for the evening was almost over. I was done for the fighting scenes. Tony had no reason to stay any longer. He and the rest of the crew congratulated me. I was particularly proud of my achievement this evening. I had proven I could be a professional actress and not rot Scarlett's reputation for once. I thanked Tony for his hard work and his virtuous patience with me then I went have a look at the screens to see my scenes looked like.

It wasn't edited yet but it looked fantastic and impressive. I had a hard time processing the fact that this woman looking fierce and in character was actually me, Jo Doe (as Evans had called me) from Michigan. 

One lastscene had to be shot where I had to run down the stairs in a sneaky way. Basically, a piece of cake. 

"And...action," Anthony Russo said. I made my way down the metal stairs when my ankle, captured in these high ankle boots, twisted and made me lose my balance. I felt jerked onwards before I had time to hold onto the rail and fell harshly on the stairs before pathetically rolling down the steps onto the ground.

I heard a few exclamations of surprise and panic then the rushed footsteps of the crew coming to my aid. My ankle hurt, pain radiating across my foot like a sonar. But other than that, I looked fine when you considered the racket my fall had made.

Larry was the first to get to me and assess the (absence of) damages. He held out his hand to me and said with a teasing smile:

"I guess now is not a good time to have donut, right?"

He giggled innocently, probably trying to ease the mood - and get his revenge on my revenge in the process.

I stared at his hand, feeling embarrassment, disappointment and fury going up to my burning cheeks, while the rest of the crew was gathering around me.

When had I become this tragic serial nose-diver?

I tried to bite my bottom lip as hard as I could but I felt the rush of negative emotions rising up to my mouth. I spew out the words before I had time to think. 

"SON OF A-"

* * *

 

A knock on the door dared to take me out of my silent grumbling. I was lying on my sofa, facing the TV put on mute because it disrupted my mental activity.

"Whoever this is, go away! I've got plans tonight already. A self-pity party."

"Great," Evans said from the other side of the door, "I never say no to a party...whatever the kind."

"You must have a trashy life, then," I commented.

"Well now I know you're okay. I see you're still you," he said to himself.

"And I'm even bitchier when I'm grumpy, so go away," I muttered from my sofa.

Evans started to laugh in the corridor.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"It's just...Who are you kidding? You're always grumpy," he said, trying to quiet down his laughter.

I rolled my eyes.

"Bye, Evans. Go flex your gastrocnemii back to your room"

What? I was bored. A sprained ankle could lead to long hours on the internet. Might as well use that time strategically.

"I miss the good old time I had a pass to your room," he sighed behind the door with a sheer sense of nostalgia.

I laughed an evil laugh.

"I brought you something," he eventually said.

His last words sent a pulse and made both my brain and body react to the announcement.

"What kind of something?" I asked, sounding half-interested.

"The kind of something that you'll like," he replied and I could hear him smile.

I jumped out of the sofa and hopped my way to the door.

"Why didn't you just start with it right away?" I scolded before I had even reached the handle.

I opened the door and found standing with a smug smirk spread across his face.

"I was trying to give you a chance to prove you're not greedy. I'm afraid to say you failed."

"I boast of having a lengthy list of flaws," I said with a shrug.

He looked me in the eye with a playful smirk.

"Anyway apparently, I missed quite a show this evening. They say you had a masterful fit, using the most graphic curse words possible in a one same sentence. Let me remember..." He started taking a dramatic pause "it was obscene", he shrugged like this first point was a self-evident fact, "it was incestuous, borderline pornographic; but the fascinating part" he mused "is that you managed to insert the word _kitten_ in it".

"Well, you know the thing with gossips. They're never reliable." This was the main and only argument of my defense. 

"Yeah, I know gossips. But when they concern you and your colorful language, I buy it blindly"

"Fine," I sighed in annoyance, "it's all true. Now, are you here to make me write lines or what?" 

He had a grin plastered on the face as lifted his first hand up holding a cream tube, then the second one carrying an extra-large bag of jellybeans. My eyes widened at the sight of this treasure.

I pushed the door wide open like a prostitute on an orgy night.

"Be my guest!" I beamed.

I bounced all my back to the sofa on my functioning foot.

"I thought you said your ankle was fine, and clearly you can't use it."

"Yeah, they wanted the medic to see me but I said I was alright," I explained as I slumped back onto the safe.

"Why did you lie?" he asked, sounding a bit concerned.

"To stay in pain! I screwed up tonight. That's all I deserve."

He rolled his eyes.

"Now I get why you called it a self-pity party."

He sat on the sofa and I snatched the packet of jellybeans, ripped it open savagely and stuffed my mouth with a handful of sweets.

"Why am I so bad at this?" I whimpered, "I try so hard to make it right. I really do. But then something always happens to fuck it up."

I paused. "And to top it off, Larry adds his little contribution and tells me now is not a good time to have a donut...while my ass is still laying flat on the ground."

"He said that?" Evans asked, furrowing his brows with a judging look.

I took another handful of jellybeans and nodded sadly.

"Jerk," he snorted.

"Dumbass," I added.

"Douchebag."

I smiled. I knew he probably didn't mean a word of it, and neither did I to be honest, but I appreciated the fact he pulled me out my self-pitying by turning the attention on somebody else. 

He gently reached for my painful ankle and rested it on his lap, took the tube of cream, pressed some into the palm of his hand and started to massage my foot. 

"All this because I broke out of character," I grumbled, "You were right. When you told me the secret was to remain in character, it worked. I rocked it. And as soon as I broke out of character, I tumbled. Now they're not even sure they might be able to use the footage for the final cut. I ruined the movie"

I reclined my head against the armrest. 

Evans shrugged.

"Black widow running down the stairs. Yeah, totally a crucial turning point in the plotline."

I ignored his sarcasm and looked up at the ceiling.

"Thank God it was my last day of shooting before moving set to D.C," I mused out loud.

"Yeah, and it gives you a couple of days to take it easy on your ankle," he said while kneading my foot in a way too pleasant way for my liking.

"I'm torn right now," I sighed, covering my forehead with my hand. He shot me a quizzical look.

"One part of me wants to tell you to stop doing whatever witchcraft you're doing with your hands right now and another one just wants you to continue."

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked smugly.

"Why would you want it to stop, anyway? Everybody likes massages."

"Because it decreases my urge to grumble!" I retorted, "And I want to stay grumpy."

"Oh poor you, life really isn't going easy on you. Shoving positive things down your throat."

"Fine," I said throwing up my hand in the air, "I'll shut up."

"Good," he commented as he resumed massaging my ankle with care. 

I watched him for a little while then took another handful of jellybeans to my mouth before voicing out loud a thought that had just popped in my head.

"If we were in prison, do you think you'd be my bitch? OUCH!" I wailed after Evans pressed my ankle a bit tighter on the sensitive spot.

"I was just asking, not making a statement!"

"And I was just answering," he said calmly with the hint of a smirk on the lips.

"Or you could have simply said: 'No Jo, because male and female inmates don't stay in the same prison so this is why it would be physically impossible for me to be your bitch in a penitentiary.' See? A nice, neat and civilized argument."

"And miss out on the opportunity to go all alpha male and hit my fists against my chest like a gorilla? Such a waste," he said teasingly.

That was the expression I had used once on him and Mackie after they challenged each other on an arm wrestling for a reason so stupid and insignificant it might as well have been for stealing the other's banana. 

"Somewhere, Phil Collins is singing with a teary eye," I commented dully before diving my nose into the packet of jellybeans.

Evans laughed heartily.

"From your lips to God's ear!" 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Making New Friends

The next morning, Evans came knocking at my door to a/ check on my ankle and b/ help me pack my bags, he affirmed. I didn't know his definition of helping, but if it meant sending cerebral waves whilst sitting on the sofa or lying on the bed and watching me, then yeah, he was doing it beautifully.

"Have you ever been to DC?" he asked whilst I was folding a pair of jeans

"No. I've never been out of Michigan..." I paused and winced, "..which sounds kind of tragic said out loud."

He smiled.

"Maybe because you had a reason. What do you miss most from your life in Michigan?"

The answer was obvious.

"Jack," I sighed with a nostalgic look then reached for a top in the wardrobe.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Who's Jack?"

"The sheer happiness he would show when I was coming home, the way he would ask for cuddles," I went on as I walked back and forth between the wardrobe and the travel bag put on the mattress next to Evans, "how he ate my food regardless of my bad cooking, our evenings together watching TV or going to the park, his habit to lick the spot under my earlobe to say hi or thanks..."

Evans was now staring at me with a rising expression of shock and revulsion. I had unconsciously taken a pause and was now standing near the bag, looking at the window.

"But I mostly miss the way he would shake his tail every time I said his name," I giggled.

Evans' cringe faded away.

"It's a dog," he shook his head with an amused smirk then laid his side down on the mattress and propped his head on his closed fist , "Jack is a dog."

"Wasn't it obvious from the beginning?" I asked.

He pouted. "Not entirely. And I'm not the kind to judge relationships, anyways. To each their kink." I rolled my eyes. "So," he exclaimed hastily with a grin, "What breed is it?"

I put the top I was holding in the bag.

"A Jack Russell terrier," I answered.

He made no effort to hide his mocking smile.

"And you called him Jack?" 

I couldn't believe he was taking me down that road. 

"Well that's his name!" I defended energetically, "It would be rude of me to give him another name. Would you like it if I didn't call you by your name or called you by other names?"

He looked at me with playful eyes.

"You never call me by my name except when you call me by other names," he said matter-of-factly, as a reminder.

I shrugged, determined not to get into this talk he was ardently to engage me into with his piercing eyes.

"Fine," he gave up, "you called him Jack."

"Except when he's done something bad. Then I call him Mr Russell."

Evans burst into laughter, fell onto his back to laugh some more then eventually went back to his former posture, temple resting on his fist.

"That is genius," he commented with a giggle.

I smiled proudly then walked towards the chest of drawers.

"I know, right? I'm glad someone has finally acknowledged it."

Not like Mrs whatever her name was before my brain wiped it off after the body swap thing and who would always gawked at me like a public threat every time she heard me call Mr Russell.

"Oh you're forgetting this," Evans said. 

When I turned round, he was reaching for my notepad on the bedside cabinet.  _The_ notepad. He looked at it, frowned for a couple of seconds then roared with laughter.

"So let me get this straight," he laughed, his voice feaching a very high pitch, "The change of hair color comes  _before_ the body swap in your priorities?"

"My brain hadn't processed shit yet," I explained.

 _"Number 5,"_ he read out loud  _"If I am in somebody's body, where is my body? Is it being occupied or is it...just a corpse? I am not dead and it fucking hurt!! Back to point number 4."_

He eyed me curiously with a playful smirk anticipating the answer I would give. "What did you do to check   you were not dead?"

"I pinched myself," I answered with a bashful shrug.

His smirk widened then he raised the notepad to be in his line of sight.

 _"Point number 7,"_ he went on, his voice progressively expressing an amused outrage,  _"I have decided to hate Chris Evans because he ate my jellybeans. This is a reminder to yourself if you dare to divert from that path, bitch_   _."_

His eyes widened in shocked disbelief. "Did you really decide to hate me just because I ate your jellybeans?"

My silence took care of answering his question.

"What? i didn't you had to fill a report and sign it before being authorised to hate somebody.

"You're a sociopath," he said, taking a dramatic gasp, "You can't just hate somebody for this."

"What?" I exclaimed, "did I miss the memo saying one had to fill a detailed essay and have it approved by the Supreme Court before they were allowed to hate somebody. Sue me." I shrugged.

"But for jellybeans?" he questioned while gawking at me. He then stared at an invisible point behind me, "Everything starts to make sense, now." 

"Well, if it can make you feel better, it wasn't just the jellybeans. It was from way before I arrived here. I think it's got to do with your face," I explained whilst thrusting the ball socks into the bag.

"Stop. speaking," he uttered gravely then looked at the notepad again.

Although his features were supposed to be tense and show his slight annoyance at the late revelation, I didn't miss the rising smirk at the corner of his lips as he read through my notes.

Meanwhile, as I kept on packing up, I could feel an unfamiliar and unexpected guilt rise within me. The self-annoyance at the realisation I might have hurt his feelings and been unfair. I had done it a hundred of times before and yet this time, it was followed by a certain kind of displeasure.

"This is fascinating," he eventually spoke after a moment, "it is like stepping into the mind of a schizophrenic or someone suffering a split personality. Shrinks would sell their souls to be offered such an opportunity."

Scratch everything I just said. He was fine and he was his usual annoying self. It wasn't that I had been unfair to him and hated on him for no reason, it was probably that I was a psychic without knowing and that I had sensed all the shit he would give me from the moment I saw his face for the first time on TV. Mystery solved.

"Oh fuck off," I hissed as I kept packing up.

Evans burst into laughter.

"What kind of dream was that?" he roared, "and jujitsu? Why do I have a feeling jujitsu is related to reality? What's the story behind it?"

My mutism fuelled his confidence.

 _"Point number 12: Does my soda have bubbles?"_ he read out loud,  _"Am I more of a Coke or a Pepsi, though? Coca-Cola is definitely fizzier...but Pepsi bubbles live longer in the mouth. Pepsi is more sweet and fruity though."_

He paused to consider me. "Is it just me or does this sound sexual?"

"It is just you," I replied with a stern look.    

He raised his two hands up in the air, looking innocent. "Admit the lack of context could make anyone wonder if you're talking about..."

"I wasn't talking about that!" I grumbled profusely as I shook my head frantically.

Evans hid his smug grin behind the notepad.

"I meant...I meant me, as a person," I mumbled then proceeded to pick up the last items in the bathroom.

His mouth tightened into a silent 'oh' as he watched me bashfully pace around the room from the corner of his eye then sit on the armchair besides the bed.

He eventually let out a slight chuckle.

"You're definitely bubbly...like sulphuric acid," he sneered with a content look on his face.

"You're violating my privacy, big time here," I noted out loud but with an unexpected impassive voice, waving a hand in the air. I guess I had developed an apathy...over the course of the last two minutes. Quite miraculous, if you think about it. This body swap had changed me. And Chris Evans had officially worn me out (yes, still over the course of the last two minutes).

"What are you talking about? Technically, it's not a diary, it's only a notepad. It doesn't count. Plus, it's not my fault my eyes fell on it"

"Fell or have been falling? Cause it's been ten minutes and you still haven't averted your eyes."

"I can't look away. This," he said with a dramatic tone of voice as he showed me the notepad, "is dangerously compelling. I'm weak."

I decided to take another angle for once. My gaze softened, my features relaxed.

"You think I can take all the pressure? Each day I play the role of someone who's always in control", I explained staring at a blank, "but at night, when I come home and turn the key, there's nobody there. No one cares for me." 

When I turned to him, I found him staring at me with an amused smile on the lips. He feigned to burrow his brows and lightly snapped his fingers.

"That's...from one of Whitney Houston's songs, isn't it?"

I looked at him dully. Oh disappointment. I honestly thought it would work. Men hate dealing with him emotions. They're uncomfortable with it. And you know what they've even more uncomfortable with? Having to deal with women who are dealing with their emotions. It was my ultimate nuclear deterrent. Make them step back by showing off   the impressive armada of feelings I got hanging on my belt.

"See? that's the problem I've got with you. What kind of guy knows the words of every Whitney Houston song?" 

He laughed.

"The kind who has has seen _The bodyguard..._ multiple times _,_ " he answered quite contently, "Plus, you forget that I've watched you learn acting. I know all your mannerisms when you're playing a role."

"I do NOT have mannerisms."

He grinned and nodded.

"Yes, you do. You have a specific tic for every emotion you play." 

Infamy! Why did I feel so violated? I think I would have been calmer if he had announced he took one of my panties. Panties are just a piece of fabric, they have no value. But knowing he could read me so easily? That was precious.

"For instance?" I said with a daring voice.

He smiled.

"So you can rub them out and try one of your tricks again on me?  Nope. Not gonna happen."

A knock on the door informed us it was time to head town to the car for the airport.

Well that was official: with the combination of the notepad and now this mannerism thing, I felt like I was literally naked in front of him laughing his ass off. Definitely not pleasant.

I got up my seat and snatched the notepad away from him.

 

I stepped out of lobby, hands in my pocket, closely followed by Evans who was carrying both his and my luggage after he had stepped in to carry my travel bag to keep me from adding weight on my ankle. 

The driver was waiting for us outside with the trunk open.

"Scarlett! Chris! Please!" we heard.

A small group of young girls were standing a few meters away at the hotel entrance, behind the gates, yelling for dear life and pleading us with puppy eyes that would make the coldest person succumb.  

Evans had handed over the last bag when he walked up to me. He pointed to the girls with a nod.

"Let's go say hi," he smiled.

I gulped. His features tensed slightly and stepped right before me to block the view.

"What is it?" he whispered with a slight look of concern.

"I haven't seen any fan of Scarlett since the pap video came out. I don't know how they feel about her now because of my doing?"

"Chris, please! Scarlett!" they kept calling out from the distance.

He took my concern into consideration with a nod.

"It will be fine. Scarlett has kept her fans, and you have probably your own now thanks to that video." 

I smiled lightly at the effort he made but I highly doubted he was right. He tried to cheer me up with a smile and little squeeze on the shoulder.

He turned, facing the main gates where the girls were standing and we came up to them. Their cheering intensified as they realized the encounter would actually be happening  as we kept getting closer and closer.

We walked through the side gate and stepped out on the street.

"Hey girls," Evans said with a ravishing smile, pulling a pen out his back pocket jeans like a cowboy. Okay. The guy clearly had practice. I waved frantically behind to try to conceal my nervousness. 

"We're such big fans," one girl said while he was signing her  _Avengers_ poster.

"Aww, that's sweet," he replied with a smile while making eye contact.

A fan handed a pen to me and showed me a magazine with Scarlett on the cover.

I smiled fondly and took it to sign it when a sudden anguish got hold of me. 

I had no idea whatsoever what Scarlett's autograph looked like. And I mentally kicked myself even harder for never thinking of googling it in nearly six weeks I had been here. 

At that same moment, Evans glanced in my direction and read my concern like crystal clear. He motioned toward the next girl and discreetly murmured as he stepped behind me.

"Shesignsitwithherfirstname."

The girl was looking at me expectantly, a huge grin plastered across her face. There was no time for me to dwell on the curve and inclination Scarlett's handwriting was supposed to have. 

I signed with an obvious look of surrender. I think I even closed my eyes at the end. 

"I met you already, you know," the girl said, "at a premiere."

She unfolded a poster of  _Iron Man 2_  and showed it to me, pointing at Scarlett's genuine autograph.

My eyes widened as I held it to take a closer look at it.

I flicked back and forth between the two signatures.

"Hey!" I blurted out to Evans as I only listened to my internal excitement, "They almost look the same!"

I held the poster and the magazine up and close in his direction. 

He tilted his head and looked at the two papers I was holding up then down at the look of sheer pride on my face first with utter shock until amusement took over.

He tried to muffle his laugh and gave me a thumb up although I ignored if it was to my  resembling  autograph achievement or the fool I had unwillingly made of myself.

"Huh I mean...my autograph didn't change much...which is cool cause...my handwriting has been atrocious lately!"

The young girl stared at me either like I was crazy. Or endearing. But sadly  these two looks were very much alike and nearly impossible to distinguish at this moment to help me improvize from there. So I just smiled.

The next girl stepped in and handed her DVD.

"I can't wait to watch  _Captain America 2._ I was so glad when they said you would be in it."

"Thank you! Yeah, Natasha is the best."

"When will you be having your own movie?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. I then covered my mouth with the back of my hand and whispered not to draw Evans' attention, "but I've been trying to convince the Russo brothers to change the title."

Evans heard me.

"True that," he said with a smirk from his standing point, "although 'convince' is not the accurate description of it. More like _pressing_ the Russo brothers."

He paused from signing then turned to me, "What was the exact title you had come up with?"

I chuckled. That was an awesome title.

" _Black Widow: The movie, and some other secondary scenes with Captain America; but really it's a Black Widow movie,_ " we recited in unison. 

The girls laughed along for the evident reason it was funny but mostly because they had been included in an inside joke.

"I love it!" one of the girls said then immediately shot an apologetic look at Evans.

He stared at her with a straight face. "Outrageous," he commented while signing the cover of a magazine.

"Did you tell anybody else about the title?" another girl asked.

"Are you kidding? She even texted Kevin Feige," he said.

"Who was this close to say yes," I chimed in, squeezing my thumb and my forefinger so close they nearly touched.

"In your wildest dreams Jo," he snickered. I shot him the most shaming look imaginable regardless of my autograph slip-up from earlier. At that moment, his shit was bigger than my shit.

"-hansson," he added with what sounded like a hiccup.

I went over to sign autographs for the rest of the girls.

"Scarlett, I got something for you," one of them said as she showed me a brown, aesthetically fluffy teddy bear she was holding in her hand.

"Oh, I love it!" I cheered then I looked at her and pouted, "I'm so sorry I got nothing to give you in return!"

The girl chuckled.

"I'm just glad you like it," she said sweetly.

I felt emotional. So much love I had earned by doing nothing. It was overwhelming in a blissful way.

"And I wanted to show you this," she continued as she pulled the bottom of her t-shirt down to stretch it. It had a donut at its center (a chocolate glazed donut) with a caption above and below reading 'You want my donut?'

"I just thought it was so awesome," the girl said with a genuine admiration. Yes, admiration. Don't ask me how, I could not explain.

Only Scarlett Johansson could fall on the ground and be considered cool for doing so. It seemed Evans was right after all. Definitely a day to remember on so many levels.

Evans joined us and laughed at the sight of the T-shirt. 

"This is great. I need the same one," he said.

"Yeah," I trailed off, "it looks definitely cooler than it felt like."

"Can I have picture with you guys?" the fan asked.

"Of course!" I erupted. The whole world had to see it how I had gotten away with shame.

  Evans and I stood on each side and we both pointed to the T-shirt with huge grins.

"Another?" the girl taking the picture asked.

I held my teddy bear in clear view with one, gently squeezed the jaw of Scarlett's devoted fan and kissed her cheek. I pulled away and smiled then proceeded to take photos with the other girls.

I received a new shower of compliments and love declarations before Evans and I finally made our way back to the hotel.

"They're so cute," I told him as we walked away, "I want to carry them in my pocket."

I heard the girls chuckle in the background. Strangely, they were not against the idea  of being shrunk and carried around in some jeans pocket.

After we got in the car, Evans watched me for a little while as I petted and looked at my new stuffed animal.

"In case it wasn't clear, his name is Teddy," I said out loud and sternly.

He smirked.

"In case it wasn't clear, I would have been mad at you if you had called him another name," he chimed in.

I held Teddy up and turned him in his direction.

"This is Evans and I'm Jo. Nope, I am not Scarlett Johansson but we let everyone believe that because we're assholes. But you know now. Welcome to the secret circle, Teddy."

"Welcome to the secret circle, you asshole!" Evans corrected.

I put Teddy on the seat and pulled my mobile out. I took a photo and posted on Twitter with the following message.

 

_A new member has joined our crew. Teddy._

_He might or might not appear in Cap 3._

_Depends if the role offered piques his interest._

_On talks._

 

 

We then took a selfie of us three looking very much conspicuous, all with our forefingers raised to our lips -and my left index pressed against Teddy's mouth-  in a shushing motion. 

 

_Teddy is part of the secret circle_

_in which we discuss...secretive things._

 

My phone buzzed a couple of minutes later. I had gotten a tweet from Mackie.

 

_@Chris Evans @ScarlettJohansson-ish Wait a minute._

_Why am I not in this photo?_

 

I typed on my screen and pressed enter.

 

_@AnthonyMackie Cause you're_

_not part of the secret circle._

 

I then took my script out my handbag and held it up open on the seat right before Teddy so it seemed like he was reading it. I pulled away to see what the whole thing looked like. I pouted. A final touch was missing.

"Give me that pair of glasses you keep in your backpack," I told Evans.

He complied graciously.

I put the glasses on Teddy's muzzle. I let out a laugh.

"Doesn't he look like he's deep in thought?"

I held the phone up to take the photo.

"Careful," Evans said, "Make sure not a single word from the script appears on the photo."

I sighed, "Come on. They're not gonna give me an earful cause I showed a few words here and there."

"Well, try them."

I rolled my eyes but abided to Marvel's commandments. I moved so that the angle would show the front of the script only with the title _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ written in black letters and Teddy's head right behind.

 

I posted the photo on Twitter with a caption and an official hashtag.

 

_Teddy is perplexed. 'Hmm, this script_

_seriously lacks some teddy bears.'_

_I know Teddy, I know._

_#theTeddychronicles_

 

The car eventually pulled over at the airport and we made our way to the private jet where Anthony, the Russo brothers and some other members of the crew were already waiting.

I barely had time to step inside the plane that Mackie welcomed me with a glare.

"What do you mean I'm not in the secret circle?" he spat from his seat.

I raised Teddy in the air and waved him in his direction as an answer.

I moved down inside the plane and went sit near a window.

I didn't know what was waiting for me next but for the first time since it all started I was serene and confident about it. 

I sat Teddy on the table, facing the window, his back on me and I took a photo that I uploaded on Twitter.

 

_Next stop: Washington D.C._

_#theTeddychronicles_

  


 

 


	17. Honesty Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry, it's been forever. I went on vacation the whole summer. Here's the new chapter! I hope you'll like it. I'm not totally happy with it so don't hesitate to post your impressions.

 

 

"And there. Who's next?" I said as I laid down my card on the table and looked at the boys who were staring at the cards they had in their hands.

Evans ran his eyes from right to left and proceeded to lay the card he had chosen on the table. Anthony was silent, impassive even although all his negative thoughts were scrolling up on his face like the ending credits of a movie.

"Are we all gonna keep on playing and pretend there isn't a stuffed animal playing cards with us?"

Good. He had finally voiced out loud his unecessary concern.

I shot a glance at Teddy who was seated on the table, face to us, with cards laid face down in front of him.

"His name is Teddy, and he isn't playing with us. He's guarding the deck," I explained matter-of-factly.

Mackie turned to Evans in search of support but who contented himself to respond to all this with a shrug.

"Oh right! The _stuffed animal_ is guarding the cards. The whole situation is so much more sensible now!"

I lowered my cards a bit to take a good, long judging look at the agitator.

"You know, you've been very grumpy since we took off. Why won't you just admit you're jealous of this stuffed animal?"

Anthony feigned to burst into loud laughter, catching the attention of the directors and the other members of the crew seated at the front of the jet.

"Scarlett, please. I'm not jealous of Fluffy," he puffed as he dropped his card on our common pile.

A brief turbulence shook the table and made Teddy lose his balance and fall over, nose straight on Mackie's card.

I looked at the funny phenomenon that had just occured and raised an eyebrow before turning to Anthony and flashing him my most wicked smirk.

"Look at that, " I started, "Looks like Teddy doesn't like you very much either."

I reached over on the table and sat Teddy back up then I picked up the cursed card. I looked at it and frowned.

"Wait a minute," I said, "how come you have a Queen of Diamonds and I too have a Queen of Diamonds?"

I pulled one of my own cards and flipped it over between my two fingers in a graceful motion to aesthetically enhance the effect of this revelation.

Mackie had now the face of a guilty man who had just been surprisingly called at the bar of a trial he had just accidentaqlly walked into.

"What kind of deck is that?" Evans asked.

Mackie shook his head energetically.

"It's my nephew who lent it to me, I had no idea."

Evans and I looked at each other with conniving smiles.

"Oh right," I started understandingly.

"The infamous nephew's deck of cards," he continued with the same expression shaking his head slightly.

"Those nephews are all so careless with their cards," I chimed in with feigned exasperation, "My nephew has five different decks of cards; all with an extra King of Spades."

"Your nephew has extra Kings of Spades?" Evans inquired, the corner of his mouth slightly up, "My nephews all inexplicably have extra Aces of Hearts and Kings of Clubs in their decks."

I gaped. "This is nuts!" I exclaimed, "You think it could be a conspiration?"

Evans and I both laughed.

I then dropped the sarcasm and turned to stare at Mackie with a straight face.

"Cheater," I stated with as much solemnity as a judge in a court, "And using your nephew to cover up your shenanigans? Shameful."

"I feel sorry for your nephew," Evans commented with a sneer.

"You shouldn't even be allowed to be an uncle," I added. Mackie rubbed his jaw like any guilty cheater caught red-handed would do it.

I petted Teddy's head, "Good job. It appears Teddy's eye is more keen than your ability to make up plausible lies."

I heard Evans chuckle behind his cards. "She killed you bro," he whispered to Anthony then feigned to take a glance out the window.

I looked at Teddy then nodded.

" _Fluffy_ has decided you're out. Go take your unworthy uncle ass elsewhere."

"Ha-ha," he laughed sarcastically then shook a threatening finger at Teddy, "I knew I had every reason to be wary of Fluffy."

"Hold a sec," I said as I leaned the two identical cards against Teddy's leg, turned him in a way that it looked like he was laying a judgmental paw in Mackie's direction and took a photo on my phone.

I uploaded the photo on _Twitter_ with the following caption:

_Another cheater put to shame. No crime goes unnoticed around Teddy._

_#theTeddychronicles #apologizetoyournephewMackie_

 

I saved the tweet for when I would land and get my reception back.

"Thanks for that," I said then put the phone back in my pocket.

"Whatever," he mumbled, "this game was boring anyway."

"Of course it was. You were losing," Evans remarked with a teasing smirk.

I snickered openly. Mackie riposted by showing him the finger then stepped away.

We watched him walk his walk of shame. Violins were so close to start playing for him.

"Have you got a nephew...or a niece?" Evans asked me after we turned out attention back to our cards.

"Nah. I'm an only child"

"Oh," he commented with a sparkle in the eye and nodded.

"Oh what?" I asked, dropping the cards down on the table.

He shrugged.

"Now I get the whole forthright and adamant personality better," he smiled.

I sneered.

"You didn't say _spoiled brat_ so I'll turn a deaf ear on _adamant_ _._ "

After everything I had made him go through, _forthright_ and _adamant_ were fairly euphemistic, if not even outrageously euphemistic. Which reminded me...

"Look...huh...about everything you did," I started, nervously tapping the tip of my index on the table, "how you took time to teach me how to act and how to work on a movie set. I just wanted to say thank you for that."

He looked at me, not as baffled as I thought he would be, but still surprised. He slightly opened his mouth, ready to say something but I anticipated his comment by waving the back of my hand.

 

"I know you did it for Scarlett but I think it's my place to thank you nonetheless...You helped me out. Much more than I believed I would need."

Stubbornly believed was the most accurate phrasing but, hey, let's not push it.

I looked up at him from behind my lashes and twisted my lips in an awkward smile.

He let out a sigh.

"Just admit you chose to tell me this now only to make me feel guilty for calling you adamant before," he chuckled lightly.

Fine, I might have done that. But it still was something I had meant to do for a while but that I kept postponing. The timing just made it a little easier on me and a little harder on him. Win-win.

"How dare you?" I said, feigning half of indignation only. This would do as 'you caught me here but I won’t admit it _literally_ '. Evans was apparently familiar with my tacit language habits and didn't dwell on the matter.

"Well, thank you," he purred smugly like a cat being petted on the tummy, "that's greatly appreciated."

I shrugged in a non-offensive way. I was not the type to enlarge on teary and excessive gratitude. _'Thank you for thanking me for thanking you'._ This could go on and on forever.

I reached for my script and flicked through the pages.

"Why do I never verbally interact with the winter soldier?" I asked. This was a question which conveniently popped into my head but that I genuinely wanted an answer to.

"Probably because, and that is just my two cents, because you two clearly have a bad history. He shot you in the stomach. This doesn't really call for small talks."

"I think talking can solve any problem," I said.

" _You_ think that?" he asked teasingly. He held back a sneer.

"Well, I don't care anyway. I don't even know the guy who's gonna play the part."

Evans rolled his eyes.

"You…," he mumbled as he took his phone out of his pocket and slid his fingers across the screen repeatedly. He eventually stopped held his phone out to me.

I lowered my script and leaned in to take a closer look. It was a personal photo of Evans in what looked like to be a bar, standing next to…

"Whoa, who's that hunk?" I exclaimed.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Sebastian…Stan. The one who will play the winter soldier."

"Holy shit," I whispered to myself. He was the physical proof that God could achieve marvelous things.

My mind wandered through numerous scenarios, all in which, this guy ended up falling head over heels for me.

"Can I have my phone back?" I heard Evans mumble as he caught me stroking the spot on the screen where the hottie's face was with my fingertip.

"Fine," I grumbled as I returned the phone, "Learn to share."

"I do share," he said.

"Well start with sharing names then we'll see for the rest."

"I told you his name so many times. It's not my fault if you have a crappy memory with names!"

Harsh.

"Something, I am sure, _he_ will find very endearing," I hummed provocatively. "As a unique response, he feigned to have taken a shot by pressing his hand against his chest with a contorted face.

"That's very likely," Evans said after he finished his little _Saving private Ryan_ portrayal. "Sebastian has a better soul than I do."

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or kind, which he often was I discovered with time. With other people. Just not with me.

Now back to my new interest: Sebastian (what a lovely name) looked and sounded like the sweet promise of being pure boyfriend material. May he have the brains too, dear Lord. I could do with little.

"Would you say he's intelligent?" I asked, "I mean can he make a sentence with a subject, a verb and an object?"

"Well, he can read and speak intelligibly if that's what you mean," Evans answered dully.

Yes! Little he had, Now I was too tempted to raise the bar up to unrealistic expectations.

"And can he change a tire?" I asked.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Evans exclaimed with a facial expression that reflected pure enjoyment. "How does changing a tire make you intelligent? I cannot change a tire!"

So that was what all the fuss was about.

"Uh oh"

"Are you saying it's women's ultimate fantasy?"

I decided to speaak for myself and all women.

"I'm not saying women necessarily expect their men to know how to change a tire, I'm just saying there's a big chance you'll stay single for the rest of your life because you don't."

He eyed me with a straight face. "Hilarious."

I skipped through the pages of the script. It was a shame I didn't have more scenes to shoot with Sebastian. An infamy.

Don't ask me why I had such a sudden and vivid interest for this man. I just did. I never did something in my life half-heartedly. When I had a crush on someone, I didn't opt for a boringly tame infatuation, I let it consume me all instead. Rule me, obsess me, possess me. The same way I did when I hated a person. I did it with a passion or I didn't do it at all.

"Is this why you hated me?" Evans pulled me out of my reverie, "because I can't change a tire?"

"No. I hated you because you ate my jellybeans," I answered very composingly.

"Something I could never forget," he commented with an amused smirk.

"But the tire thing would probably have played against you."

"Color me shocked," he said flatly.

I rolled my eyes.

"Oh come on. You make me sound like a persecutor."

"Well you did tell me once," he chuckled as he recalled the details of the story, "that the sight of me made you want to kill babies. At least you win the prize for original wording."

I gasped.

"I never said that!" I exclaimed, leaning forward in his direction.

He smirked. "Yes, you did. I came to talk to you and that's the first thing you told me.”

I blinked a couple of times, processing the information I had just been given and which, I had to admit, sounded authentic.

I recalled the moment. I also recalled being in a very bad mood that day. I couldn't act to save my save my life, I was still in my anti-Evans phase and the guy showed up at the worst time possible to chat, so yeah, I snapped and might have let this comment slip out to express accurately the level of physical intolerance I had for him at that exact minute. It didn't necessarily mean that I hate babies. I have absolutely nothing againt these diaper-filling, wailing liliputians.

I sat in the back of my seat again.

"What an asshole," I commented to myself in a low, almost embarrassed voice then looked back at him. "How did you fight the urge to smash my little bitch mouth?"

My question was every shade of genuine.

Evans roared with laughter like I had rarely seen it do it, a tear on the edge to fall out of the corner of his eye.

"No need to laugh dramatically just to show how much you're having fun on your own without me!" Anthony grumbled all the way from his seat with raging envy.

This had to knack to send the person targeted into a new fit of laughter. It took a long minute before the hilarity started to fade, although a brief giggle emerged a couple of times.

"Looks like I may have a better soul than I thought after all," Evans said with a nod to himself.

Let us not linger on the beauty of how we both ignored Anthony's discontent and went on with our lives.

"And looks like we two have come from a dark place," I continued. I then furrowed my brows when I realized the serious lack of accuracy. "A very murky and sinister place."

He laughed. "Yeah, I think we can be proud!"

He paused then dropped the amusement almost instantly.

"Except for one thing, though" he said, "I feel like we lack honesty towards each other."

"Are you kidding?" I sneered, "I think our problem is that we are way too honest with each other."

He smiled. "I mean positive honesty."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Like when you thanked me earlier. Let me be honest with you too,” he hesitated slightly then brushed it off soon after. “Then you can do anything you want with it after I said it."

I wriggled in the seat to take a comfortable position. Loved me some gossip.

"I'm all ears!" I eventually purred as I looked at him straight in the eyes.

His pupils slightly shivered then a composed smirk rose to his lips.

"I didn't agree to support you with acting for Scarlett only." A silence followed then I blinked a few times. Where was my juicy gossip? Was it hidden? A secret code?

"I'm sorry. Come again?" I asked raising my fingertips to my bottom lip.

"Obviously I said yes because it was the right thing to do for Scarlett, but that was only part of the reason why I accepted."

His gaze was drilling a hole into my head as he waited for me to utter a vocal reaction. I gave him a visual one first: I frowned hard.

"Are you saying you partly did it for…me?"

A light chuckle escaped his lips. "Apparently, yes."

I didn't ask him why. It wasn't my right to ask and I was positive I wouldn't understand his reasons anyway. It was a choice he had made willfully,; it was very likely he had valid reasons but that I knew I wouldn't comprehend nonetheless. There was no point in asking him to voice them out loud as if he needed to justify himself to me for being a better person than I would have been if I had been in his shoes.

"Thank you for doing something I wouldn't have done for you…at that time."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"I don't agree with you," he said quite solemnly.

I opened my mouth, ready to protest wholeheartedly. Yeah, _wholeheartedly_ ; even if it was to prove him what a bad person I was, I was ready to do it fully and show my most outraged face while doing so.

"Let me finish," he interrupted me, hushing me with a wave of the hand. "I _know_ you would have done the same for me if the tables had been turned."

He caught my curiosity. I was actually curious to hear what would have made me say yes, because honestly, right now, I had no clue.

"You're a good person," he stated. His explanation was brief, simple, full of confidence and effectly convincing. A great introduction that left me on the edge of my seat to find out more about this other side of me he seemed to know so well. "I've been watching you. You're good to your assistant and the rest of the crew, you're incredibly sweet with the fans and you're good to Scarlett as well in so many ways. I can see it. And I don't doubt a second you would have accepted to help me if it had been me in your situation. Because you care and you're not a quitter."

He looked me in the eye for a longer time than he intended to and I saw the teasing he usually had twinkle again in his pupils. "You can fight me now," he whispered with a smile.

I was awestruck. Not only because he had managed to prove his point, but because he had done so painstakingly. His accuracy when describing me demonstrated how keenly he had observed me and how impartially he had judged me as a person. He had looked over my constant barbs when they normally should have blinded his sight; he had paid attention to details and kind gestures that never were adressed to him and had valued them as if they had been nonetheless. And all this, well, it shut me up. Big time. God, I hated that.

He eventually broke eye contact, looking out the window, trying to conceal his expectation to get a comment from me. It was blindingly obvious but I appreciated his attempt to hide it though.

"Remember…" I started then trailed off as he swiftly aimed his gaze back at me with thorough interest. It made me lose my composure. It wasn't a secret I was bad at taking pressure. I had Scarlett's ankle for a witness. "Remember that time I told you I couldn't be bothered to listen to someone who spent more time lifting dumbbells up to his face than books?"

Again, another mean thing that might have accidentally slipped out when I was moody.

His expectant look dropped flat like every one of my cakes after I took them out of the oven. It brought back sad baking memories.

"Jo," he started with a sigh, covering up his disappointment with a half genuine smile.

I babbled some more and cut him off by raising my index finger.

"What I'm clumsily trying to say is, aren't you full of surprises for someone who, not so long ago, I mistakenly believed couldn't possibly have much to give?"

I paused. It had been pretty laborious, but it was finally out. I smiled bashfully, silently communicating my desire not to dwell on any more pathetic speech.

He stared, seemed to go through a thought process and acknowledge its result before he nodded strongly. "I guess that will do," he said more to himself than to me but still satisfied with what he had obtained.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Unexpected Blooming Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the new chapter. I'm on a roll!  
> Come on guys, am I the only one left on this boat? Post a comment. I miss them!

The rest of the flight went rather smoothly. We invited Anthony to join us. He said he forgave us for the offense. But not Teddy. He shot him a death glare.

As soon as we landed, I posted the tweet with Anthony's photo.

We walked through the airport and didn't resist the urge to add a new chronicle when I saw a baggage carousel.

"Wait!" I told Evans who was now walking ahead of me and carrying our two bags.

I put Teddy on the carousel and waited until he was taken far enough from me. Then I took a photo.

_Drama at the airport_

_#theTeddychronicles_

 

"Where do you find all those ideas?" Joe Russo asked amusingly as I trotted my way to my little friend.

I came back with Teddy in my arms. "Why? You don't like the Teddy chronicles?"

Mackie flashed me his best sneer.

"I love them," Joe exclaimed. His brother Anthony gave an approving nod.

I grinned with all my teeth.

"What is wrong with you all, people?" Anthony (Mackie) yelped.

I held Teddy out in his direction.

"Stop resisting the love," I teased.

He smiled deviously.

"But I _do_ feel love in my heart," he stated reassuringly." I _looove_ hating Fluffy."

We resumed walking and passed a newsstand. One particular magazine caught my attention. I halted and looked at it from a distance. My eyes widened as soon as I deciphered the title.

"Christ on a bike!" I exclaimed, immediately drawing the attention of my crew on me and piquing the interest of Evans who knew for a fact this expression was only to be used for extreme emergencies.

I ran up to the stand and grabbed the tabloid.

The title was even uglier seen up close.

 

_CHRIS EVANS AND SCARLETT JOHANSSON'S SECRET ROMANCE ON SET_

 

"Little fuckers", I muttered under my breath. The cover showed a photo of us standing by a trailer being in the middle of a conversation.

Below was the following subtitle.

 

_TAKE A PEEK INSIDE AND READ ALL THE EXCLUSIVE AND JUICY DETAILS_

_OF THEIR BLOOMING ROMANCE_

 

"Hell, you bet I wanna know about it," I grumbled.

I went to the cashier and paid for the magazine, showing him all the disdain in the world for selling that piece of trash. Not fair but I had to take it out on someone, and he seemed like the perfect candidate. I also couldn't ignore the fact he had deliberately put this one on the front to attract the audience.

Mackie came and stood behind and looked at the article over my shoulder.

 

_Buckle up ladies, Chris Evans might no longer be on the market. And the happy winner could be no other than his co-star and long-time friend Scarlett Johansson._

_Although Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson have played in numerous films together, it appears the filming of the latest Marvel movie instalment Captain America: The Winter Soldier may have kindle the spark between the two friends._

_According to our reliable source, "Chris and Scarlett are always together on set." The source also claims that the two co-stars spend hours locked together in one of their trailers._

_"As soon as they have finished shooting a scene, they go lock themselves in a trailer and don't come out of it until they have to return on set to film."_

 

"Oh my God," I gasped. Even _I_ knew the truth and I still found it scandalous.

"That one I can confirm is true," Anthony snickered wickedly.

"Oh you shut up!" I snapped and resumed reading.

 

_"When someone asks Scarlett what she and Chris spend so much time doing in the trailer, she laughs and says he's teaching her acting."_

_Knowing Scarlett's glorious career, I wonder what kind of private lessons she's getting from Captain America exactly._

 

"Eww." My face twitched just at thought of the dirty innuendo made here. And what a vile lie! Never would I say Evans is teaching _me_ acting, I would say _I_ am learning it. Outright spurious.

 

_Scarlett, you're a tease. And a lucky woman all Chris Evans' admirers (basically any normally constituted women) will say._

_As to know whether their story is serious or, don't panic yet ladies, the pair may not be ready to make it official yet._

_"Clearly, they have an undeniable chemistry on and off-screen. It would be silly to think that nothing could ever happen between them," our insider said. "But I don't think they're ready to be an item yet. They're both very secretive about their love life and they haven't even figured out if what they have is all fun and casual or if it could lead to a committed relationship."_

_Personally, we are totally rooting for the pair and it would be a shame that two gorgeous people don't end up together. Stay tuned to find out!_

 

I looked at the multiple pictures supposed to provide concrete proof of this so-called romance. Some were paparazzi shots of Evans and me while we were on set, and some others were photos of Scarlett and him interacting very warmly on movie carpets and official events. Idiots.

Those photos didn't proof a thing out of context but seemed here to easily make the gossip credible because they had been given a context.

 

I showed the article to Evans in the car. He read it silently, sneering from time to time. Seriously? Where were the comical bits? I didn't remember any. When he eventually put the tabloid down on his lap, he found me staring at him expectantly.

"So?" he asked with a shrug.

"So!? This is all bull and we both know it!"

"Of course, we do. Doesn't mean people aren't allowed to think otherwise. They're free to have their opinion."

"Oh don't you go all Steve Rogers on me," I grumbled and leaned in to snatch the magazine from him. I needed to take another look at the article. As unhealthy as it was, it helped me fuel my rage and my determination to get revenge. "It's fucked up."

"Of course it's fucked up," he agreed. "But it's just gossip."

I shook my head.

"No, it's more than gossip. How do they know we spend time together in one of our trailers between shots? How do they know that I said I was learning acting with you?" I felt like lieutenant Columbo going on a long and intelligent monologue before uttering the name of the killer. I took a dramatic pause just like Peter Falk would in such a tense moment and continued. "I'm telling you. There is _a_ mole on set. And I'm gonna find this little fucker."

Close up. Fade to black. Commercial break.

 

"Fine. Someone on set-"

"A traitor," I cut him off sharply.

He complied with a nod. "A _traitor_ spilled the beans. But he or she must be long gone now. You won't find them on the new set."

He was probably right and that left a feeling of frustration.

"But what if Sebastian believes it?" I asked. This stupid tabloid seriously jeopardized my chances at happiness.

"He'll be the last person to believe it," he said.

But what image would that give me? People would side eye Scarlett as a person who restlessly goes from one dick to another without taking a break on Sunday to go confess her sins to the church.

"Don't worry," Evans spoke reassuringly with a smile. "We'll be broken up by the end of the week."

"Or engaged," I added.

He shrugged lightly. "Or engaged," he conceded. An amused smile rose on his lips. "Stay tuned to find out."

 

* * *

We arrived in the early evening. The whole cast was expected on set the next morning. I went through the tweets that mentioned me in the hope to find Scarlett. I kept scrolling down, the screen of the phone being the only source of light in the dark room, the side of my face pressed against the pillow.

People seemed to enjoy my chronicles and comment on it but Scarlett still remained quiet. I frowned at the phenomenon. Had I paid my last internet broadband bill? I was pretty sure I had. So why couldn't she find me? If I were her…- Bad wording. If I were her for real (as in super _super_ real, not on a body swap level real), I would have had created a Twitter account called _RealScarlettJohanssonAuthentic_ by now. It wasn't like I had stolen her thunder with my username. _ScarlettJohansson-ish_ did leave a big open door to any person wishful to create an account and claim to be the real Scarlett.

The next morning, I put on my nicest clothes. I had to look ravishing to welcome the newcomer.

"Does he have a girlfriend?" I asked Evans in his trailer after his make-up artist stepped outside to go grab a coffee. Once upon a time I would have found this sentence hilarious. Now I knew a good complexion was essential not to look blemish. Especially for men.

"Who?" he asked, incredulous.

"Ugh. Sebastian, obviously," I sighed as I contorted on the table in front of him to express my annoyance.

"Why?" he asked, even more incredulous.

I propped on my palms and leaned over towards him.

"So I can congratulate her as the tradition wants," I said flatly. "Why do you think? So I know if I can make him the grandfather of my grandchildren."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"That's what I call a long-term commitment," he said with a smirk. I stared at him in a pressing way which, if I did it well, would make him spill the beans in no time. "I don't know," he said evasively.

"What a freaking liar," I erupted.

He gave me a judging look.

"Believe it or not," he said. "Sebastian doesn't keep me updated on his love life and, as crazy as it may sound, I certainly don't ask him to give me an update."

I leaned forward and looked at him straight in the eye, switching my personal bullshit detector system on. His pupils remained still. No lie detected.

"Fine," I stated as I leaned back against the mirror. "No worries. I'll find out myself…I made it a mission."

Evans let out a snort.

"Please don't start any flirting without me around," he said.

It rubbed me up the wrong way.

"I beg your pardon? Just so you know, I can flirt."

I triggered a conversation that greatly piqued his interest.

"Oh yeah? And what kind of flirt are you?" he teased with a playful smile.

"The terrific kind. Satisfied?"

He laughed and shook his head.

"Cocky. Now I definitely want to be around when the flirting happens."

"You should believe it without the shadow of a doubt, though. Remember we're supposed to be having passionate sex any chance we get according to _Us Weekly_. Clearly, I didn't get into your pants without strong flirting skills."

He sneered. "Right. Since _Us Weekly_ says so."

I crossed my arms against my chest.

"Get ready," I warned him.

"Sure. I promise you I'll mentally prepare myself to get mind blown," he said.

"How about you prepare yourself to shed a tear?"

Lauren, the make-up artist, opened the door of the trailer and walked in, putting an end to our talk.

I hopped down the furniture and headed to the door while Lauren was looking through her make-up case. I caught Evans' attention in the mirror and he watched my reflection as I ran my finger down my cheek to trace the motion of a tear.

I went to the coffee machine to grab my strongly-needed dose of caffeine. Caffeine to cope with the tabloid's drama; caffeine to boost myself before meeting Sebastian. I had made Evans promise he would be the one introducing me to him. They were friends, I was his friends, therefore Sebastian would see me as a friend. I waited for my cup to be filled while tapping my foot on the ground. As soon as the machine beeped, I reached for it and blew air to cool it down, then I swallowed without really thinking. It burned my palate and my tongue.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"That's a lot of coffee at once," someone said behind me.

I turned to find a familiar face that I might or might not have googled the night before.

"Sebastian?" I squealed, coughing because of the sensitivity of my burned palate.

He nodded and smiled. He stretched his hand out to me for a handshake.

"It's great to meet you," he said with a warm smile.

"I burned my tongue," I felt the need to explain myself. He went on smiling politely, but silently waiting for an actual reply.

I held his hand and shook it, kind of numb. This was nothing like I had planned it.

Evans was supposed to take him to my trailer to meet me then, just when they were only meters afar, I was supposed to step through the door, wave and smile, and catwalk my way up to them and turning his world his world upside down in the process as I would appear like the brightest vision they would have ever had the chance to see. That entrance was supposed, according to my calculation, complete 35% of the seduction. 35% straight in the bag that had been now thrown out of the window.

I was officially at 0%, and judging by my refined vernacular and my sensible greeting, I was pretty sure I had hit the negative numerals.

 

"It's a pleasure too," I said at last.

An awkward silence followed. Sebastian glanced around him, searching for a subject to discuss or an emergency exit to take.

"The set looks great," he exclaimed. Phew, it was option one.

I nodded. "Yeah, it's just incredible. I have never seen something so big in my life."

He slightly furrowed his brows.

"Wasn't it the same on _The Avengers_ set? I guess it was even bigger!"

Jo, you dumb fuck.

"Oh, of course it was! It's just uh…you never get used to it, I guess."

Sebastian smiled at me, his blue eyes piercing into mine. I could feel my knees go weak.

I had a drought of sensible, endearing or funny things to say. I could have mentioned his role of Bucky Barnes but I had been dumb enough not to watch the first Cap movie like Evans had told me to do it. Damn, even in such a pathetic moment, I was sensible enough to see he had been right.

"Do you know where Chris is?" he asked.

He hated me, I could tell. I had failed. His only wish was to go as far away from me as possible.

 

"He's in his trailer," I answered politely but using all my acting skills to conceal my disappointment. I was jealous of Evans to no end. I had to compensate. "Having his make-up done," I added. I smirked internally.

 

He turned to walk away then glanced at me one last time. "I look forward to working with you."

I grinned half-heartedly only because I had still sucked ass and this couldn't be forgotten.

"And you too," I said.

I waited till he was far enough to wail in a second cup of coffee.

 

Evans came to me half an hour later, a big smirk on his lips.

"How did it go with Sebastian?"

"It went great. I expect him to propose to me any minute now."

He grinned openly. "Oh. That bad, huh?"

I bit my bottom lip.

"That's just the start. I'm sure I can make him look over the revulsion he got from our first encounter."

He laughed.

"Come on, he's not repulsed. Well, that's not how he looked when he came in my trailer."

I widened my eyes.

"Did he talk about me?"

"Uh, no."

"Did he formally say he wasn't repulsed by me?"

"What? No!" he exclaimed.

"Then I'm sorry, your supposition isn't worth shit."

He rolled his eyes.

"Well, he didn't throw up when I brought up in the conversation," he said matter-of-factly. "That's got to be an encouraging sign, right?"

"You brought me up?" I asked with a grin.

"Yeah. I asked him if he had met you yet?"

I was pretty sure my eyes were glittering.

"And?" I hummed.

He frowned and took a step closer towards me. He reached for my face with his hand and softly touched my chin. "How badly did you burn your tongue exactly?"

His concerned look turned into a playful smirk. I snatched his hand away with a grumble.

"I can't believe he told you!"

I pictured them both laughing at me like pigs gleefully rolling in the mud on their tummies. Maybe Lauren joined them too.

"Clearly, he didn't get a good impression."

"Knowing Sebastian and the way he mentioned the story he must have found it somewhat adorable…to an extent."

 

I turned and saw a familiar silhouette approaching. The whole set on pause. The world stopped spinning. Not a sound was made untimely as Samuel L. Jackson treaded the ground of our petty world with his great charisma. He paused, looked around, threatening anyone who would dare to spoil his entrance with a piercing gaze. Then after many seconds went by, he eventually permitted us all tiny people to release the breath we had been holding by saying "hello" and waving. Such simple gestures for such a great figure.

"Sam!" I exclaimed and went up to him. He gave me a warm hug.

Evans followed behind and stole my spot.

"It's good to see you," he said. I nodded with alacrity. No wiser words could have been uttered at this exact minute.

Sam was wearing practically the same outfit as the one he wore in _The Avengers._ Dressed in black from head to toe, he was the quintessence of charisma and mystery. The father of every spy.

I looked forward to shooting my scenes with him. There was a thrill, stronger than the one I felt every time I shot a scene, that I couldn't quite quantify but that I could tell was positive. I wasn't as scared as before to ruin the scenes and bring shame on myself. I was more confident in my acting abilities, more confident in this no longer so hostile working environment and I knew that only good things could come out of it.

Really, this second part of filming looked promising on every level.

"Where is Teddy?" he asked.

"You…know about Teddy?" I blinked a few times.

"Of course. Isn't he the new star of _Twitter_?"

Later that day, I posted a new Teddy Chronicle. The photo showed Sam holding his head looking like he was in deep confusion. It was captioned by Samuel himself. A true accolade.

_Teddy just called Samuel Lawrence Fishburne._

_Now Sam is having an identity crisis._

_#theTeddyChronicles #SignedSLJ_

 

An hour later another photo followed of Sam laughing wholeheartedly next to Teddy, an expression of sheer relief on his face.

 

_Nothing better than a joke to ease up the mood!_

_Who said teddy bears lacked humor?_

_#theTeddyChronicles_

 

The boys walked in just when I was taking the picture.

"What is it?" Sebastian asked.

"Man, you don't know _the Teddy Chronicles_?" Samuel asked with a disapproving frown.

"Ugh. Not again," Anthony groaned like he was literally in physical pain before stepping away.

"Don't mind him," I said as we all watched him go stand in the corner. "He's just dead jealous of a stuffed animal."

"I don't even get it," Evans chimed in, putting his hands in his pockets. "Didn't you use to have a red balloon attached outside your trailer?"

Samuel flipped his head in Anthony's direction and stared at him with feigned (but still believable) abhorrence.

"You had a red balloon? Man, that's some sick shit, there!"

We laughed in unison. Even Anthony didn't resist and cracked a smile.

We explained to Sebastian the whole Teddy story.

He leaned over and grabbed it.

"And you chose to call it Teddy?"

"I didn't. That's his name, "I answered slightly bashful.

He looked at Teddy's face then smiled.

"I love him already," he said.

Don't ask me why, I took it for me.

I grinned and let him hold Teddy in his arms. I hoped he would take it for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
